What We May Be
by Ink Ribbon
Summary: We know what we are, but know not what we may be. [Post ADWD]
1. Chapter 1

What We May Be

_We know what we are, but know not what we may be, William Shakespeare_

_Chapter One:_

Jaime:

It was a light wetness that Jaime Lannister felt at his cheek at first, a silky, feathery drop, melting so as the moment it touched his skin. Bewildered, he lifted his head, toward the slowly breaking sky under the pale yet heavy mist, trying to remember the last time he had seen snow. They were returning from Estermont, a tourney hosted for the new King's name day. They had taken their leave whilst snow banks were slowly turning to dirtied mud along the Kingsroad, and when they returned to King's Landing it was summer again. _Joffrey was a toddler, still clutching her mother's hems, Tommen wasn't even born yet._ Over a decade gone, but now it seemed to him ages had passed. He watched as another drop landed on him and he raised his golden hand to catch another. The snowflake glinted on the gold, shining brightly like a crystal. It reminded him of the mines back at home, sparkling golden glints beneath Casterly Rock's cavernous depths.

_Winter has come_. The news of the white ravens from Citadel had reached to the encampment in Pennytree but watching as snowflakes fall was another matter. It'd been _so_ long, and they were so unprepared. He cast another look around, the war-torn lands stretching ahead of him. The sight irked him thoroughly whilst the wilderness of Riverlands fell under that eerie mist, cold fingers of fogs crawling through tall slender trees, wild scrubs pushed out of the earth dew with moist. He pulled his cloak tighter around him against the chill, edges trimmed red with fox fur.

The snow fastened, hurling in the wind. Beside him he heard a faint gasp, small as a hitch of breath but enough to take him out of his reverie. Shifting aside, he darted a glance at his companion. As bewildered as though he was with the sight, the Maid of Tarth was in stupor, those big blue eyes of hers widened in awe. _After her childhood, this must be the wench's first winter, _Jamie reflected.Oft-times he forgot how young and ignorant Brienne was of the world and its dangers she lived in.

_And some fool you are following her right in the heart of those dangers, as blind as a bat_, he thought the moment after. She had made her appearance in his camp yesternight, demanding that he came with her, _alone_, looking at him with those eyes and before he knew he was back in the wildness again, riding through the night at a hard gallop, on a bloody rescue he had never ever truly hoped to be a success, but he had given his word.

"Your first time?" Jaime asked, a sly half smile playing over his lips, his tone laden with hidden innuendo.

She did not take the notice of it, of course, she had never. "The last winter in Tarth was mild," she said rising her hand to catch a snowflake like he had done, "I remember it faintly. I used to beg my lord father to let me to play with other children, but I was never allowed."

He gave out another smile, small but this time sincere. "I used to throw balls at Cersei and Tyrion at the inner bailey." His voice was warm with old childhood memories then he remembered… _she's been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and probably Moon Boy for all I know. _Come to think of it, perhaps he just wanted to be away from Cersei.

His face closed off, cold as winter. Sensing the change of his mood, Brienne turned her attention from the white miracle and spurred her horse closer to Honor. Jaime looked at her, in waiting. She did not speak. "We did not come all way to here to marvel at the sight, Brienne," he rasped out a snap, "Where are they?"

She stirred ahorse, gestured with a small shake of her head. Below them, one of the thousands of the vales of the Riverlands lay ahead in leisure, a thin river lazily waning its serpentine way through the base. "They camped near the river for the night," Brienne explained, pointing at the river below the hillside where they were standing atop, reluctance in her voice as clear as the winter mist around them.

From the slope, Jaime turned his eyes at her, and squinted. That qualm was foreign to him. She had never been a hot-headed person like him, never reckless but that was different. She had come to him, _demanding_ his help, but when he had given her what she had asked and they left the camp unannounced like thieves in the night, she started behaving like she wanted to be anywhere but here in the world. If it were anyone but Brienne, he could have said he was walking into a trap but he knew the wench. He knew her sense of honor and duty, he knew her oaths. But she wasn't apparently the same stubborn big wench he had sent away on a foolish honorable quest. The notion soured his mood further. Everyone had a breaking point. He of all people would know that better than anyone. He had oft wondered about her after her departure, wondered what kind of fouls might have befallen her, wondered if he had made a mistake sending her on her own, wondered if she had been defiled, beaten, broken… His eyes caught the fiery gash across half of her cheek, red and swollen. _How did you get that, wench?_

"Perhaps we ought to wait until the dawn quickens," she then announced, and his suspicions grew louder and louder in his mind.

"You want to wait?" he asked, giving her a look, "I thought you would just want to gallop below the hilltop. The ladies in distress won't get rescued by themselves."

Much like the old times, she ignored his mocking, pulling reins closer to her chest, her cloak hiding half of her face. "The sun almost broke. We rode hard through all night and it's the Hound that we will face with." She hesitated a second before she finished, quickly stealing a look down the hillside, "We need to rest and gather our strength back." _Because you're just a woman and I'm just a cripple._

Perhaps she had just learned how to be prudent. It was surely a lesson he needed to learn too, long past.

"My lady of Tarth, I wouldn't dream of you becoming so full of tact," he jested, even though he reined in to still Honor.

She watched him serenely as he climbed down from his saddle then she dismounted as well. "People change," she said with a small voice as she walked past him, reins in her hand, her mount following her.

For that, Jaime had nothing to say.

The snowfall had quickened a bit heavier, wind starting cracking at his face. She had chosen the wrong day to play the hero, he reflected as they walked slowly through the tricky path. If he had known the snow would have fallen so sudden he would have never—well, he figured he would _still_ have, when it came to the bloody oaths, he was surely as stupid as the wench. Some day, like his lord father used to say, that was going to be his downfall. The thought brought a sudden snicker out of him. _If only Father would see me now…_

Brienne gave him a curious look with a faint scowl, enormous blue eyes searching to see what could have brought such a mirth out of him in these dark times. He gave her back a sly grin, wheeling Honor closer, "I just thought of my lord father seeing me like this—chasing after the Stark girl in the heart of the winter," he explained.

Then the stupid wench stopped, turning to look at him directly in the eyes, her blue gaze under her cloak was as sincere as he always knew. "I have heard the news of your lord father, Ser Jaime," she said to him. His face closed off, "My condolences."

"Why, don't tell me you've grown onto love Lannisters," he snapped, anger edging his voice into a deep rasp, for what he was not certain. Before Brienne had come and dragged him away, he had been just the son that the mighty Tywin Lannister had always hoped for. _With a trebuchet_. Yes, Tywin Lannister would have been proud.

Brienne was looking at him with that look again, long and hard, but without a word she turned aside and tied her horse to the nearest tree. "I meant no offense, Ser," she then softly said, almost meekly, as if she was tired, as if she did not really want to hurt him. "I know how dearly you love your family."

"Family always comes first, he used to say," Jaime remarked as he tied Honor too, and straightened up. "My brother killed him, and I set him free." The confession must have pushed itself out of him on its own record, because it was not his intention to speak aloud, but after the words were uttered out, he also found himself not caring. Perhaps just not with her. _She'd already heard too much anyway._

The snow had ceased, the mist was slowly unveiling, the hour of the nightingale nearing. "You were not at fault," the Maid of Tarth asserted, tiredness again so palpable in her tones, her voice as faint as a whisper.

"I never said I was," he countered placidly. He hadn't pulled that crossbow, he knew that, yet ofttimes it made no difference. _You poor stupid blind crippled fool. _And such a fool he had been, for so long.

He sat down beneath the tree, old roots and cold wet heavy soil biting his skin even through all the layers of clothing. A few hours, scarce minutes before he was off again to do something stupid. _How very fitting._ Brienne settled herself next to him in silence.

He threw another side glance at her as she heaved out a soft breath. What she had left unsaid grew heavier in his mind, so he pressed further. "Gods be damned, Brienne," he hissed at her, "What happened to you?" She gave him a withering look, swung at him, forever in defiance. He shook his head. "Do not tell me it's nothing," he warned, "I see it _is._"

"It's just a bite," she insisted again, her hand rising to over her check. That was what she had told him when he had asked her what had happened to her face. _It's just a bite, nothing of importance, ser._

"Enough to make you shiver in pale, wench," he shot back, mostly to arouse her. It had been a while since the last time he had called her wench at her face.

"I'm only a bit tired," she insisted stubbornly, "It will pass in a minute. It-it festered a fortnight past, illness had fallen over me—I became feverish."

"And then you decided to rush to rescue as soon as you stood on your feet," he snapped, feeling anger heating his blood. _How you could be this stupid, wench, sometimes I wonder. _Though that was the wench she knew. He shook his head again. "Dead people cannot save anyone, Brienne," he remarked, the fire in him quenching.

This time she didn't respond, as she knew well enough that he was right. Dead could not save any one, dead was just dead. He casted a look up and wondered how long they could wait until they would charge. The sky was painted with Lannister colors, crimson-and-gold, faint sunlight creeping through the cracks of the clouds that gathered above. He idly wondered if it would snow again. This was just the passage between the seasons, a taste of what would come soon, and every maester told the same; _after long summer, comes long winter. _Aside him, with a small sigh, Brienne unfastened the leather straps of her breastplate and took it off.

And Jaime stared. She was in bad state, he had assessed it from her appearance at the first sight, but he had not realized the extent of it until the breastplate had come off. Her thinner, yet as homely as ever, face told him that she had lost some pounds, nasty festered wounds tended to do that, but what he found underneath of the steel was exceedingly worse. She must have lost at least one stone, perhaps even two, the leather jerkin once stretched fittingly over her hefty body now hung loosely as if belonging to someone else. It wasn't. He would know, because he had armored her himself from the best armorer in the city before he sent her away with Oathkeeper. He was wondering how she could even carry the heavy armor in that state when she said, "It was Biter." He looked at her, quite at lost then it dawned on him.

"Where?" he breathed out, "I have been looking for them." His voice took an edge, "They already left when I arrived at Harrenhal." The reports were confusing after then, once he had even read one that claiming Beric Dondarrion slayed them.

Nodding, Brienne agreed, and started retelling, "I found them at an inn at the crossroads—or they found me," she said, "I thought the inn might have news of Sansa." It must have been the inn that Sandor Clegane had killed his brother's men, so perhaps he also met with Stark girl there. Founded at the crossroads in the heart of the realm, it seemed quite possible. "It—the inn," Brienne continued, "it was full of orphans—" In her voice the same hesitance crept again, a sadness shadowing her usually cool tones, "Orphans, they were so many, Ser Jaime, so many. War has torn apart this land, leaving only weak and innocent behind."

Solemnly, he nodded. "Wars always do that," he said, his voice dark. He had always thought his place was at the battlefields, his sword in one hand, his shield in the other, glory for his name, honor for his family, just like in the songs, but in the songs no one talked of orphans, of people who had nothing left, neither did they talk of cripples who had left behind a piece of them.

Unbidden, guilt was there, filling him. He looked at her again, her battered figure, not as colossal and unmoving as it used to be. He was right in his suspicions; she had changed, he could clearly see it now. Much like him, she had changed, and he was the cause of it. He should have never sent her alone in this torn apart land on a foolish hope to keep a vow. The notion had amused him, the bitter irony that he was the one who kept Stark girl safe when no one expected it but he also had wanted to keep his word. _Oathkeeper_, he had named the sword, and it felt right.

Still, each of them made their own choices, war or peace, run or fight. The Maid of Tarth had chosen too, she had made her bed long past and Jaime knew she was prepared to lie in it, so long as she had a sword in her hand. All things considered, it was what he admired the most in the wench.

"What happened then?"

"We fought—" She paused, her hand rising to her cheek again, "I won."

He snickered, looking at her ruined cheek. The scar made little difference on that side, she was still as unappealing as before, her sunken deformed cheek only made the look worse. She was damaged, scarred, almost broken, but her eyes were the same. He looked at those big, magnificent blue eyes. They had not changed, not yet.

He sighed out, resting his head against the tree's trunk. The sun had fully broken now. Soon they would set on the road again, to keep their last vow. He stood up, and offered his hand to her. "Well, at least, you are not stupid to go on your own this time but had enough wits to ask my help. I would hate to see you dead, my lady."

Her hand in his, suddenly she stopped, as if he had stricken at her, cast off stone, looking bewildered, big eyes on him—almost wet. He frowned, his jaw setting, as her lips quaver, her eyes moistening.

_No…_ A fat tear dropped over her scarred cheek. "I—I'm sorry," she pleaded, standing as the same time he uttered her name into a question.

"Brienne?"_ Don't tell me you did it._

"I—I cannot—this isn't right, it is not." She shook her head. "There is no honor in this."

Heaving out deeply, Jaime pulled his sword out of its scabbard. When there was any honor in anything?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

_Brienne_

It was the words that undone her. _I would hate to see you dead, my lady…_

She had heard courteous words from many suitors before but none of them were sincere, only because she was the Lady Evenfall with promising prospects. Most of the times even those prospects were not enough, underneath of those courteous words there was always a hidden mocking beneath, but she had never cared. They did not matter, nor their derisive words nor their sly smirks. In any other world, Jaime Lannister would have counted as one of them, but in this one he mattered, mattered perhaps more than he should have.

The slyness was still there, she must be as stupid as they thought not to recognize it, but she was not stupid. She also knew Jaime Lannister was the most sincere in his most mocking. She could not do that. She could not lead him to his dead. She did not wish to see him dead, either. Since the time she had known him, he had done nothing but trying to keep his word. Any lesser man would have forgotten of a vow that was sworn at the sword point, but not Jaime. Whatever they said about him, he was an honorable man. Brienne knew that as sure as she knew herself. _Oathkeeper_.

Her eyes watered, her insides torn apart when she realized what her decision also meant. _Oh, Podrick please, forgive me. _"I—I'm sorry." She felt wetness over her cheek.

Podrick would understand, she told herself, as young as he was, he knew honor. "I—I cannot—this isn't right, it is not." She shook her head. _Podrick, please, forgive me._ "There is no honor in this."

Jaime looked at her as if she had wounded him then drew out of his sword. It pained her more than the scar over her neck, more than the ruin over her cheek. Tears followed. "It's not what you think," she managed to say, and grasped his golden hand, "You must needs listen to me."

He was looking at her, disappointment clear in his stern eyes, and seeing it in those green depths were as hard as watching Podrick fight for air, trying to breath as they hung him at a tree. She dropped on her knees. "Jaime—_please_," she begged. _Please, please, listen to me._

It was the sight of her begging on her knees or the imploring tone of her voice made it she did not know, but he relented finally. "You will tell me right now what this is, Brienne." Though he lowered his sword, he did not sheathe it.

She nodded desperately. "They—they took Podrick," she started, the image of his small body swinging in the air, kicking and clutching at the noose around his neck assaulting her. She could not help it, she started openly crying.

Jaime sheathed his sword and dropped on one knee before her. His eyes found hers. "Brienne, cease your crying," he ordered flatly, "Who is _them_? What happened? Who took _who_?"

"Podrick Payne," she answered, pushing down the sobs. He was right. She had to stop crying. She had to be strong. Crying never did any good to anyone. "Your brother, Lord Tyrion's squire. He found me on the road. We were looking for Lady Sansa together."

Jaime's eyes squinted at the mention of his brother's name, but he urged her to continue. "And?"

She pushed up her feet and passed the back of her hand across her cheeks to dry the tears. "We were ambushed at the inn. The mummers…they became even worse, terrorizing the villages, kidnapping children and women. There were eight of them, but I had no choice. I fought them." _No chance, no choice…_ She could not let them hurt the children… "But I lied," she continued, "I didn't win. I lost." She breathed out and looked at him. "It was Brotherhood who saved us."

"Beric Dondarrion saved you?" Jaime asked incredulously, then nodded. "I had reports claiming that scattered Vargo's leftovers were slayed by him," he commented thoughtfully, "Figure they were true."

She shook her head. "Beric Dondarrion is dead," she said, and paused. How could she explain Lady Stark was leading Brotherhood now? _How could I make him believe such a thing? _"Brotherhood saved me. They're led by someone else now."

He arched one eyebrow. "Pray to tell who?"

"You will not believe me," she said, shaking her head, "And I do not know how to convince you, either, ser."

"Try me, wench."

"It's Lady Stark," she then said.

Jaime's lips pressed into a thin line, "I warn you, _Lady_ _Brienne_, I'm at the edge of my patience."

"I swear I'm telling true," she gulped down a helpless cry and sat down along the tree once more. She was tired. Gods have mercy on her, she was tired, tired to her bones. "I told you I do not know how to convince you."

"She's dead," he remarked placidly, "Freys cut her throat open."

A shudder passed through her as she remembered the blood stained crack over her throat. "Aye, yet she lived." She paused, "Thoros of Myr said about something like _kiss of life_, I know not. What I know is Lady Stark lives." If anyone would call it a living… She lifted her eyes and looked at him openly. She could not hide from him now. "She thought we betrayed her." _Oathbreaker_, she recalled the dead woman's words, _Kingslayer's whore. _ She pushed the thoughts away and declared, "She ordered me to bring you to her to prove that I did not."

And he stared back at her, cold eyes burning with a green fire. "And you accepted."

"No—that creature is not the Lady I swore to serve," she said plainly. It hurt her but Lady Stark had died at the Red Wedding, in her place came back a creature full of hatred and vengeance. _War makes monsters of us all... _ "I told her I would not. I implored her that you're not what she thinks you are, that you're an honorable man, that you sent me off to find Lady Sansa, but she didn't listen. She is not the woman we knew. Lady Stoneheart they call her now."

"Coming back from death would that to you, I reckon," he snickered, but then his voice grew darker, too. "Are you certain it's her?"

She nodded. "She—is different, but it's her, I'm certain of it, ser."

He still looked like he did not believe it, but he passed his good hand in the air a moment later, "So the question is—_why_ are we here, wench?"

Ashamed, she bowed her head. "It's because of Podrick. I—I accepted the noose, I was offered the sword or the noose, to kill you or die myself and I made my choice." She lifted her head, and she knew her own eyes were burning fiercely now, "You saved me from death, from rape, from all the vile things I do not even know how to name, Ser Jaime. I would die before I betray you." She pulled aside the neckline of her jerkin and showed the red scar across her neck. "I chose the noose."

He was staring at her deeply too, openly, and suddenly she felt naked under his gaze. She realized she was trembling. He shook his head. "Loyal to a fault," he sighed out, crouching before her. "Someday that is going to be your downfall," he whispered at her.

The fire exploded in her was even worse than fever attack she had endured after her wound festered. It burst out of her face, reddening her skin and she wondered if he could see it too. "I cannot choose. Not for myself."

He nodded, understanding. "But when they threatened your little squire—" he completed for her, "you relented."

She hid her eyes again in shame. "He—he's so young—he did nothing wrong. I could not—I could—" She lifted her head back at him, her sight getting blurry again, "They made me watch as they hanged him. He was not screaming—but looking at me as if he understood—I couldn't—"

He stood up. "You did the right thing. Threating children…" he said darkly, "It's a foul thing." He reached out to her and grasped her at the arm. He pulled her up.

She half found herself amazed how easily she was hoisted up on her feet. He must have grown stronger after she had taken her leave of him. The thought was a little cheer in amidst of all the darkness around them. Like his golden hair, he had grown his strengthen back. She cast a look at him to confirm it. He more looked like the man she had seen the last time in his Tower, only stronger and sterner, nothing like the bald man she had helped to bring to King's Landing back. That time he was a crippled beast, battered and scarred, now he was Jaime Lannister, the true Lion with a golden hand and her the scarred beast with her eaten flesh. The wound at her cheek throbbed, and she almost started crying again. But he caught her gaze and returned it, his fingers suddenly tightening around her wrist.

"One more thing, _Brienne_," he hissed above her ear. She wished he had called her wench like he used to, this hiss of her name was utterly terrifying, making a cold shiver run through her spine. "If someone ever threatens you again," he warned her, "before anything, you do come to _me_."

She nodded. He shook his head. "I do not hear your voice."

"I will come to you before anything, Jaime," she appeased him, "I swear it."

Satisfied, he nodded, and broke his grip. "Now, let us go save your little Podrick."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

_Jaime_

It was folly, Jaime decided as he crawled on his elbows after her, half hiding beneath a ditch they found along the ridge, spying at the camp ahead. Two tents along the river, he counted three men around them as another was tending a fire. Their camp was small, thanks to gods for small mercies. Brienne had explained she had convinced the Lady Back from Death only to bring half of a dozen of her men, elsewise she could not lure him into the ambush uncaught.

It was a good plan, he admitted, more cunning than he would have expected of Maid of Tarth. Today was his day of surprises. First Brienne's betrayal, then her womanly confession, all tears and pleas, another thing he would have not expected of Maid of Tarth, and now this sort of a plan bordering on cunning.

From one of the tents a woman emerged, clad in dark grey, moving with an eerie air as she walked along the river bank. He could not see her face, but it made little difference, a sharp intake of breath from Brienne who was crawling next to him revealed who she was. There had to be some explanation for Jaime never believed in ghost stories. He knew of smallfolk's talking of Beric Dandorrian's famous deaths, but he believed the smallfolk gossip as much as he believed ghost stories. He did not know the woman's real identity, but he knew this; whoever she might be, she was capable of making Brienne almost betray him. _Threating children… It's a foul thing… with a trebuchet..._ He suppressed a tremble and pushed down another voice asking what he would have done if Edmure Tully had not accepted his offer. Peace, he had achieved it, by all means, and he kept his vow. He had picked up arms against no Tully. _At least I'm not hanging children at the trees to prove my point, _he reflected._ No, I just flung them off the towers… _

Another man followed her out of the tent, and this time he recognized the bald head. He had seen the red priest in King's Landings before, dining with Robert, he had heard of the man's reputation. "Perhaps we shall go and fetch men from my camp then come back," he commented looking at Thoros of Myr.

Brienne's big eyes widened in fear, her long fingers clutching his. _By gods, even her hand looked thinner…_ "No—sun already broke. They will be expecting us soon. If I don't show up, they will know I betrayed them." Her eyes watered, and for a moment he was afraid she could cry again. There were enough tears for him in a day, though he could not say he didn't enjoy altogether this new side of Brienne. It was vain of him, taking pleasure of a maiden's fright, especially the said maiden he had once witnessed holding her cool composure even at the likelihood of abuse and rape, but he was a man after all. "Please, they would kill Podrick—and there is also Ser Hyle—"

His head snapped at her. "Ser who?"

She squirmed, gods be his witness, the Maid of Tarth squirmed like a maiden on her wedding night. "Ser Hyle—A hedge knight," she explained, "He was also with me. She captured him too for aiding Lannisters."

"Is there anyone _else_ I need to rescue today, my lady?" He shook his head. "And how many people did you _convince_ to search the girl with you?"

Her broad face reddened at his veiled insinuation. Brienne the Beauty, using feminine charms on men… The thought was as odd as seeing her in cries and pleads. "I did not ask him. He invited himself on the expectations of a reward when he saw the pommel of Oathkeeper." She paused and gave him a sheepish look, another odd thing on her, "Lannisters always pay their debts, he said."

"Ah—" he breathed out.

"Ser Jaime—"

"Hush—" He silenced her, rising his hand half in the air, suddenly bored with the thoughts of Lannister golds and Brienne's loyal followers. They were too many; too many to rescue, too many to cut their way out by fighting. Brienne looked as good as he had been when he was freed out of captivity, and despite Ilyn Payne's best efforts, his left hand was still not like his right one was used to be. It took a few seconds to convince himself it was the best course of action. "Take off your armor," he ordered seizing her up and down, standing up from the ditch.

Brienne stared at him, astonished. "I need you to be fast, that armor is slowing you down."

She continued looking at him, stupefied. He almost rolled his eyes. "Have you ever played catch and break?"

"Yes—"she hesitantly answered, "We used to play in the gardens. I was always a catcher—oh…" Realization made those blue eyes of hers shine brighter. "But how will we make ourselves in?"

He gave her a mocking grin. "Lady Brienne, I _did_ miss being your captive."

Before the morning aged into the noon, the weather turned warmer, the chill leaving itself into a brisk cold. Jaime was trotting along Brienne, hands and legs tied, bounds catching at his skin even through the leather. When Brienne had left them loose, he had her tighten them, making a few japes at her because he needed to distract himself from the voice inside his head crying fool. _Fool_, the voice snickered, so close to Cersei's cutting dry tones, _you are a fool._

He could not object at that, he was a fool, walking into a trap, only his leather jacket at his back, his hands—hand and his stump, and legs all bound, five living men and one dead woman all looking for his head. Bloody seven hells, he _was_ a fool. Those big blue eyes, looking at him widened, imploring, unshed tears shining flashed in his mind… _Gods blind you, wench._

The owner of those damn eyes was walking between two mounts, as he sat on Honor bound, holding the reins of each mount in each hand. She had taken off her breastplate as he had instructed, only had boiled leather and black thin shirt of ringmail under her cloak to protect her now. It could be enough, he told himself not the first time. He had forsaken his own mail for her sake. Leaving his white cloak, he had donned it like whenever he wandered in the wildness before they had taken their leave off his camp, then he gave it to Brienne, prisoners had no need for mails or armor. He was open to any assault, but for Brienne, he was more preoccupied. His own fighting strategy was always depending on speed, as he also hated fighting in full armor, but Brienne's strategy was for defense. He had surmised it at the first time they had fought, for his each thrust, she only parry, defending herself until he had tired himself, then she started her own dancing. It had worked on him before, _only_ just because he had already been exhausted beyond belief because of his long captivity, as he liked telling himself, but either way, heavy defense was not what they needed here now.

He wanted her to be quick as wind, light as snow. Catch and break. "Remember," he warned her whilst they approached the camp of the Brotherhood. "When we bring in, I break my bounds, you catch Podrick, I catch that ser of yours, and we're gone."

Brienne gave him a brief nod. "What about the archers?" she mouthed silently at him.

Archers. The weak point of his "catch and break" plan. "There are only two of them," he said, "I will try to take one down before I start galloping, but either way if we're fast enough, we will not be hit."

From the grimace over her lips, he could tell she did not like his plan. All in his honesty, he could hardly blame her. "It is this, or we ride back to Pennytree and I gather my men and come back."

"Podrick and Ser Hyle would be dead by then."

"Aye…"

"We could fight—"

"We could _not_—"He cut her off, "That is Thoros of Myr over there, Brienne, we _might_ take him together in a fair fight, but not when he was circled with four men."

"I can—"she started again, claiming that she could fight and all, but he cut her off the second time.

"You can barely hold your ground—you are not as strong as you were, whether you admit it or not. The fever and illness had taken off your strength. You must have lost at least two stones."

Her lips flattened even further, even though she knew he was right, she did not yield. "Ser Hyle can fight—"

"One woman, one cripple, and one hedge knight for sale against six battle-seasoned men—If you think that would have a happy ending, you've grown stupider than I remember," he hissed out, holding a shout barely inside him. He was tired, tried of betrayal, tired of fighting, tired of war… She opened her mouth— "_Enough_. I gave my command."

Her eyes suddenly shone. "I do not serve you, ser."

"No—" he agreed, giving her a look, "But make no mistake, if we survive this, we will amend that." The Others take her, if he did not put her on a tight leash, her stupidity did not end well for anyone, it seemed to him. She was about to speak again, surely to protest but it was the moment that Brotherhood caught their approaching. When their gaze fell on them, Brienne fell in silence.

Jaime's eyes scanned the camp, looking for the grey woman, but instead found another familiar sight, a helmet in hound shape… If Sandor Clegane was truly alive, he must have lost a great deal of stones, and shrunken a few inches. The man gave out a snicker, his eyes on Brienne.

"Oh—look at this, lads," he jested, "The Kingslayer's whore is back—Lover quarrel, me thinks." Jaime frowned. _The Kingslayer's whore?_ He should not be surprised hearing them calling her that, she was carrying a Valyrian steel sword with a lion pommel, yet he did not like hearing it. He had knocked off Ronnet Connington's teeth for less an insult.

Turning aside, the pretender saluted him in mocking, "M'lord." Jaime decided to spare the man when he returned with his army, just to teach him a few lessons in the manners.

"You wouldn't believe it from the way she called out his name in her fever, eh?" His companion sneered, and dropped his tone into a shriek, "Jaime—Jaime—_Jaime_—"

From where he stood above her on his mount, he could see Brienne's face reddening into a darker shade. The stump where his hand should be itched, and he wished for his sword so he could take both men's head just right there, lessons be damned.

"Enough." Thoros of Myr interrupted the cruel mocking, and ordered the man in Hound's helmet, "Lem, take the Kingslayer to the tent, my Lady will attend to him." He turned to Brienne. "My lady, I'm glad to see that you made your way back to us again."

Her face was still red, but Brienne held up her head in dignity. "Where's my squire and Ser Hyle?" she demanded. "I want to see them."

"They're well," the old warrior-priest confirmed, "You all will be judged again after my Lady judged the Kingslayer."

"After she kills him, you mean," Jaime shot back, whilst they were dragging him into the tent. So he was going to be with the other two and if they also put Brienne with them, it would be even easier than he had hoped.

Inside the tent, he saw a one-and-ten black haired boy sitting in the right corner. The boy was barefoot, clad in dirt and earth, curled into a ball, trembling in the brisk cold air without a cloak or blanket. He came to Jaime oddly familiar, yet he could swear he had never seen him beside Tyrion. Across from the boy, sat a man—a few years younger than him, but older than Brienne, his features hardly recognizable from all the beatings he had had to endure. Ser Hyle, he surmised. Both of them were bare with clothes that not fit for this cold weather, sustaining a red gash over their neck. He was about to pity them, just before the hedge knight gave him a surprised look, seeing his entrance, then spat through his broken teeth. "Kingslayer."

He suppressed a sigh down. Once the word would only make him seethe his teeth, boiling his blood with anger, now it only made him suppress a sigh. He was tired. "I 'ever thought she 'ould do it," the hedge knight muttered, words slurry through swollen ruin lips.

The outlaws behind him snickered. It seemed everyone believed that Brienne had affections for him. Jaime knew there was a shade of truth in that belief, but it was not like they thought. Brienne fancied the man who had jumped unarmed into the bear pit for her sake, like those fools in the songs. But Brienne also fancied Renly, just because he had been kind to her, though she did not know the reason of it. Renly had been only buying her loyalty with kind words and kind jests. Jaime hadn't been trying to buy her loyalty when he jumped into that pit, quite the opposite; he had been paying his debt.Without her, he could never survive after they had hacked off his hand, he would never forget that.

_I have dreamed of you… _ He recalled her womanly shape in his dream, naked and in chains, begging him for a sword, begging him to save her…and in the dim light surrounding her looking almost beautiful… Funny thing she looked like in his dream now in his mail… almost beautiful, almost a knight… "I—told-you she would come—" the boy's faltering voice shook him out of his thoughts. He looked frightened, very, but still continued defending Brienne, "Ser—my lady—My lady would not let them hurt us."

The outlaws pushed him down. "You're Tyrion's squire," he stated after they left, looking at the young squire.

The boy still looked frightened, but nodded. "Yes, if it please my lord." A ghost of hesitance passed over his face as Jaime looked at him deeper. The young boy fidgeted at his corner. "My lord was naught but kind to me," he muttered.

Like Renly, he snickered inside. Much like Renly, his brother was buying loyalty with kindness and wits… "Your lord killed his lord father," he said coldly. _Why, Tyrion, why…?_ What Tywin Lannister had done to his brother… it was a vile thing, vilest thing… but killing him, slaying his own father… _Why? He was still our father._

The young boy was looking at his feet now, hiding his gaze, then he said with a voice as small as him, "I know my master has his own reasons." He was not sure whom the young squire was trying to convince, Jaime or himself, but having someone having that kind of belief in you after you slay your own kin must have felt good, and for a moment, the first time in his life Jaime was jealous of Tyrion. After he had slayed Aerys no one had believed in him like this, not even Cersei.

It was that moment the woman in grey came into the tent together with Lem. He had taken off his hound shaped helm, baring his ugly face to the world. Ignoring the man, Jaime tried to take a look inside the grey woman's hood, but the tent was gloomy even in the pale morning sun, and he could not see a fig. The woman closed in on him, and stopped a few inches away from his feet, standing towering over him. And under the fade sunlight, he finally saw her…

…And wished he had not. _Winter is coming,_ he remembered Stark's words, remembered the old winter tales. _Dead walking, coming for living…_ Stories…old tales were coming alive before his eyes… Dead coming for living. Brienne was right. He could not explain how, but it was Lady Stark. All foul, rotten, and her throat cut, it was Lady Stark's corpse looking down at him with contempt and hatred.

A sickly pale white hand rose out of her robe and found her neck. The voice she made was like a stretch over steel, but Jaime understood the word well enough. "Oathbreaker."

Next to him, Lem announced, "My lady wants to see you all be judged in our blessed cave, before all our brothers. Then there you will be dead."

Death, _so_ final, like Tyrion had once said. No, death was not sitting well with him, at least not yet. "Sorry to disappoint," he clinked his tongue before he jumped on his feet, taking his golden hand in his left and swung it at the woman's half cut head with all his weight behind him. The rotten thing flew all over the tent and dropped down with a heavy thud. He knew what they would call him now. _Deadslayer_. He decided he liked the ring of it.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

_Brienne_

They rode at a hard gallop, Brienne feeling dizzy in the dark, her side hurt. Podrick's small body was resting against her, asleep, and secure. It was dark but she didn't know the hour, it was hard to say without the moon. Jaime had made them ride during all day, only stopping once for the horses to be watered and fed.

It had happened all at once. At first she heard shouts from the tent as she was talking with the old warrior-priest, then she understood it was the time. She quickly cast a glance at Thoros, who had been looking at her with a peculiar look, then started running for the horses.

Oddly enough, Thoros did nothing to stop her. When she brought the horses towards the tent a few minutes later, she had already taken down one outlaw guarding the horses with her bare hands; her sword had taken from her as soon as she handed Jaime. Oathkeeper… leaving the sword behind was hard but Jaime, herding Podrick and Ser Hyle out of tent, was shouting at her to come at his side, so she had no other choice.

At that time, an arrow flew just above her head. Her side was cut open through the ringmail when the outlaw guarding their horses caught at her. But it had only happened once. She had taken the sword from the man later before she cut the horses free. She mounted her own quickly, as Jaime yelled at his own destrier. "Honor, to me!" The black war stallion sprinted at his master's voice, and Brienne quickly followed. There Jaime caught Podrick under his armpits and flung him over her horse. Brienne saw his golden hand was missing, then saw it in Ser Hyle's hands as he smashed one of the outlaws' head with it behind him. Jaime turned towards his mount before he barked at her. "Run, Brienne!"

She opened her mouth for Oathkeeper but another arrow passed above her arm. "_Run!_" Jaime shouted again before he pulled up Ser Hyle on the saddle and squeezed his legs in the spurs, cracking reins-

So she did the same thing, and they did not stop until Jaime noticed she had been hurt. He had cursed at her wildly, halting the horse, his eyes flashing dangerously. Brienne just wanted the day end now. She was tired, hurt, and most of it, she had lost Oathkeeper. Somehow she had thought they would let her carry her sword at least. As far as they knew, she had done what they had asked of her.

Jaime spurred his horse closer to her, and gave her a prying look. Ser Hyle behind him looked at the other side. Brienne looked at the war horse. He was a noble bred, much like his rider, a magnificent beast. It was named _Honor_. The thought almost brought tears to her eyes.

"Are you well?" Jaime asked, his voice as cool as the crispy air around them. He had strapped his golden head again after he washed the blood over it at the river when they had stopped for a break. Brienne didn't answer. "If it is your side," he pressed, "we could take another break. I mean to be at Pennytree before the moon rises but—" He stopped and squinted at her. "Brienne?"

She bit inside her cheek to keep her tears at bay. She hated crying, only weak, fragile women cry. She cast a quick glance at him and found herself wondering again what he would do if she rested her head on him and cry on his shoulders… _"Brienne?"_

That tone again… it did undone her. She felt wetness over her cheeks. "I—I lost Oathkeeper." She bowed her head, hiding her face, her tears, her shame.

"Brienne—" he called out to her, more softly than she would expect from him, but still she didn't look back. She could not endure seeing the disappointment in there. "Brienne—look at me," His voice was now stern, requesting obedience, but there was still a gentleness in it—she raised her head— his eyes found hers… "I will get it back," he said, and it sounded like a vow.

A fortnight past then they had entered the camp in Pennytree. The first week she had spent in one of the crimson tents, with Podrick nursing her back to health. Jaime visited her once, inquiring about her health and ensuring Podrick she was not to leave the bed unless he willed it. Brienne had tried to object but she was hushed down with a single _"Brienne", _making her wish the days when he called her just _wench_.

Podrick was the best company she could ever hope to have, and Ser Hyle mercifully kept his distance. One night Podrick claimed whilst they supped that Jaime had taken the hedge knight into his service. "I don't suppose Ser Jaime liked Ser Hyle, my lady—" the young squired commented meekly over a bowl of pig stew, "but Ser Jaime said—a Lannister always pays his debt."

Brienne smiled weakly. Podrick seemed—happy, and Ser Hyle got his reward, so she supposed at least not everything was an utter failure with her quest. She had failed Lady Stark, she had betrayed Jaime, she had lost Oathkeeper, but at least the boy was alive and happy.

She put the stew down and lay aback, tears again threatening to break over. "My—my lady?" Podrick had ceased to call her "ser—my lady" these days, she noted absently. She must have looked very ladylike lying abed, weak, tears in her eyes… her father would be proud, even all the suitors had once courted her would have liked it... "You need to eat, my lady. You so scarcely eat now."

How ladylike of her…eating like a bird, pecking bits of her plate… weak and ladylike… She felt sick, like something was rotting inside her, some vile she did not know how to name… Her fingers rose to her cheek and touched the scarred skin lightly. Not so ladylike, she mused inwardly. She felt like she was trapped. All her life, she had wanted to be a knight because she could not be a lady, but she could not be a knight, either, she had _tried._

"Podrick—" She called hoarsely, "give me a looking glass."

"My lady?"

"A looking glass, Podrick, please."

Unwillingly, the young boy handed it to her. She raised it to her face, and looked at herself. Freckled skin, sunken maimed cheeks, her broad plain face, dark circles under her eyes, hair like straw… weak, scarred, ugly… _Who are you_, she asked to the woman she saw in the reflection, _what are you?_ She didn't know. She never did.

Podrick left, giving her a worried look and she wondered what she would do now. Could she continue her search for Sansa? Somehow she knew she could not, not anymore. Lady Catelyn was dead, then returned as a monster, and died again. Brienne saw what Lady Catelyn's her own vows had turned her to. Jaime was right. They made them vow so much, whatever they did, however they tried, you always end up breaking one for another. Lady Sansa's fate was in the hands of the gods now. Perhaps she should return to home as Elder Brother had told her, and be what his father had always suspected her to be—be a splinter and wait to die. _The Elder Brother was right, my quest… it broke me…_ Night aged as she dreamed herself futures each more bleak than the other, and it was almost moon up in the sky full when suddenly Jaime walked into her tent.

She half jolted up in her bed, pulling the fur blankets closer herself over her nightdress. "Jaime—Ser Jaime—" she amended quickly. They were not in the wildness anymore. Custom dictated they should not be alone in this hour, especially when even here people still called her Kingslayer's whore behind her back. She did not care, she had passed beyond caring now, but she didn't want to give them any reasons to talk more wildly.

Dressed in rich crimson jerkin and dark breeches, Jaime Lannister looked unaffected, and instead scowled. "Podrick tells me you do _not_ eat."

She blinked—and mouthed out, "What?"

"You need to eat, Brienne, gather your strengthen back."

She glared, "Are you here to scowl down at me for my eating habits?" Her eyes squinted, and her voice turned colder, "Ser, I'm sure that you have much more important affairs than my appetite. Please do not let me detain you from them." He had barely given her time after they'd arrived to the camp, and she wasn't in the mood for his mocking.

He sat on the chair beside her bed, ignoring her jape. In fact, his face turned serious. "Aye—I do have," he conceded, "We leave with the first light. My scouts picked up Brotherhood's trail."

She nodded. She just wanted him to leave her now so she could brood over her fate in the dark. Jaime instead gave her a curious look, inquiring eyes looking intently at hers. "How curious-" he commented, titling his head aside, "No demands from my Lady of Tarth that she will ride with us."

His mocking words cut her like a blade. She gave him a seething look back. "I'm weak. I would only hinder you."

He nodded back at her. "It's good to see that you at least learned to accept truth," he muttered, and handed her the untouched plate. "You're weak, yes, and you won't get any stronger either unless you start eating."

She didn't take the plate. "I want not."

His eyes were on hers again. "Brienne, remember what you told me—" he said, "I know how you feel but this is not the way."

"And how I feel?" she asked back.

"Lost—" he said plainly, "Like you have gone somewhat astray."

Slowly she reached toward him and took the plate. How this man could understand her when no one else did was a mystery to her, but she was glad that someone at least saw how she felt. "Jaime—" she said, and again tears were threatening to break… she took the spoon and started eating, mostly because she didn't want to cry before him. "I'm—I'm sorry for what I did. You were nothing but good to me. I never intended to hurt you," she said after she gulped down her first spoon, her voice thankfully cool.

He shook his head. "You did _not_ hurt me, wench—" he said, and rested his back against the chair. He was looking at her hard again. "But why did you do it? You could have handed me over them, take your precious Podrick back and be own your merry way."

Her hand stopped in the air and she dropped the spoon. Why? He could ask her _that_ after everything they had been through… then she remembered. Lifting her head, she smiled faintly at him. "I have dreamed of you."

He smiled back. "So you have." He stood up. "I have received grieving news today, so very grieving. When I return—if I return, we shall talk again. Until then, my lady, be well," And with that, he had left.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five:

_Jaime_

His sword lightly resting over his armored shoulders, his cousin Ser Devan looked at the prisoners before them suspiciously, and asked, "Are you sure about this, coz?" His own uncertainty was palpable in his tone, but Jaime did not heed it. He was not assured, but he had made his decision. He nodded curtly. The Warden of the West still looked doubtful, but did not press further. _Warden of the West_, Jaime reflected, suppressing a sigh, another stupidity of Cersei.

_Cersei… _The raven had come the night before they had left to hunt the rest of the Brotherhood. He had burned her letter at Riverrun, leaving to her own fate and her fate was to be atoned for fornication and disloyalty… The thought of her walking naked to Red Keep angered him, but somehow he also thought it befitting. He did not want her to be dead, despite everything he did not wish that; so few of them was left now. _Ser Kevan is murdered_, the message said, _hit at heart._ Both his father and uncle were killed in the same way. Cersei would have done it? Slay their kin, kill their uncle? He knew not. The only thing he knew now was that he could no longer dally here. He was the only remaining Lannister. He had to be a man grown now, because the message hadn't finished there but it went on; _The Crown needs you, Lord Commander. Golden Company attacked Stormlands._

His good hand found the second sword hanging over his belt… The sellswords army had not been seen in this side of the narrow sea for decades, but now they were coming back, and it meant only one thing. _War is coming again…_ His hand touched the Lion pommel as he gave out a sigh. One good thing in the last days. He had taken Oathkeeper back.

"We need to bring peace to the land," he told Ser Devan, "and we cannot do that if we keep killing each other."

"These people are outlaws, criminals—"

He cut her off his cousin, "For us. For others, they're saviors." The other people that hated Lannisters. They could not hold Riverlands by brute force, especially not when a new threat from East looming over the horizon as Stannis Baratheon with his army was still in North. He needed all his forces back to King's Landing. He had dawdled enough in Riverlands.

He walked toward the captives. There almost fifteen of them now, all bound hands and feet, sitting on the wet muddy earth along the river bank that he had found them, still glistening white at the edge. Last night snow had fallen again. The air was growing colder, his breath vaporizing with each intake.

He stood before the old warrior priest. "Have you decided?"

"To take the black or die?"

He nodded, and asked again, "Have you decided?"

Thoros of Myr looked at him in the eye. "I've looked at the flames… Our paths divide now but far from here, we will meet again, Lord Commander," the red priest announced as Jaime frowned. "We've decided. We will take the black."

"Then it's decided." He stopped for a second before he continued, "I have no men to spare to escort you to the North. Do you swear on you honor and on your god go to the Wall if I release you?"

Next to him, Ser Devan grumbled but kept his silence. Thoros of Myr nodded. "I swear by Fire. Our place is at the Wall, I've seen it in the flames—" the red priest said, "Winter has come. The fire showed me. They're coming, and he's returned."

Jaime frowned but couldn't help himself, he asked, "Who?"

"The prince that was promised," Thoros of Myr answered his voice dropping like he was giving them a secret, "He was betrayed, and died, and now he returned."

Ser Devan exploded next to him, "That's a mummer farce, coz," he shouted, "be done with it."

Jaime would have felt the same, if only he had not already seen another returned from death. "If he _ever_ comes to this part of the world," Jaime vowed, "I'll kill that one, too."

Thoros of Myr smiled at him, "No, you won't."

With any other word, Jaime turned and walked away. He was done here, he was done with Riverlands.

It took three days to get back to the camp, but when he did, he had become resolute in his intention. He dismounted Honor, handing reins his new squire Blackwood, and ordered Garrett to bring him Brienne. "Tell her that Lord Jaime wish to see her at once."

If he knew her a bit, that would be enough of a hint.

He entered his pavilion, the biggest in the camp with a wide and sturdy pole in the center, and took off his cloak. Outside the air was cold, but interior of the tent was warm, his squires had the brazier crackling with fire. He looked at his stained crimson jack and breeches, but paid them no heed. He had no time for those kinds of luxuries, at least not in the wilderness. Brienne would understand the urgency. He turned to brazier, and looked at the flames. He saw nothing. He wondered about what the red priest meant, but then decided he was talking rubbish. Catelyn Stark had come back from death, yes, but—

Garrett walked in. "Ser—my Lord, Lady Brienne is without," the young squire dutifully announced.

Turning back, Jaime nodded. "Let her in."

The moon was already up, so they must have wakened her from her rest, and Jaime preferred it that way, taking her by surprise. A moment later, she stepped in, looking at him confused, her eyes still sleepy. Under her fur cloak, he could see her white nightdress. It was a few days more than a fortnight they had last seen each other, and Jaime was pleased to find out color returning to her. The time they kept apart had been good to her.

She looked much healthier, the dark circles under her eyes were gone, and bruises across her freckled face and swollen lips were a faint memory now. Her blond hair was swept over her left side, loosely bound in a braid for the night, hiding the most of the scar over her cheek underneath. It was the first time he'd seen her shoulder length hair in braids and he liked it. He might even get her lengthen her hair. She was still the tallest woman he had ever seen, but with all the weight she had lost during her ordeal, she no longer looked big. He remembered his dream again… Still not a beauty, not like his sister, but if he hadn't known it, he could say she looked _almost_ pretty.

He must have stared at her openly because she pulled her cloak around herself tighter in a conscious gesture. "Garrett said that you wished to see me at once, I was abed—" she explained her attire, taking his gaping in the wrong way. "What is it that cannot wait until the morrow?" she asked, fidgeting, and Jaime knew that she was afraid of gossip—"and, Ser, why your squire calls you _Lord_ now?"

A smile broke over his lips. "You noticed?"

She frowned. "I—I—"

Shaking his head, he cut her off. "I have something that belongs to you."

He took a step closer to her and unsheathed Oathkeeper. Her big eyes widened and shone brightly and at that moment she looked _very_ pretty. "Oathkeeper," she whispered out, "You brought it back."

"I promised," he said, extending the sword to her. She grasped it, and their fingers brushed each other before he let the sword go. His eyes were still on hers. He really liked seeing those eyes, seeing them widening, shining brightly like sapphires.

"Thank you, Ser Jaime—" she breathed out.

"Lord—_Lord_ Jaime," he corrected her, and with a sudden move he turned away. She flinched as if he had struck her. He walked over to his war table where Riverlands map was still draping over, countless little figures on different part of the map and looked at her. "I told you when I returned we should talk."

Slowly, she turned aside and took the scabbard he had disposed and sheathed the sword in one swift motion. Watching her deft movement gave him a sudden stir, and he wondered if she could still best him if they fought. _Probably, you cripple fool._

When she turned to him again, he saw her eyes were glazed with something he could not name right. "I'm a highborn lady," she said gradually, "I shall not be put out of my bed at midnight and asked to be present to a _Lord_ in my nightdress."

He smiled at her. "Pardons, my lady."

Shaking her head, she fisted her hands, then rasped out, "Piss off."

Jaime barked out a laugh. She took a step to leave. "I think it's the first time I have ever heard you cursing," he remarked, mildly amused. "Now, sit. I did _not_ wake you just to be cursed upon. We must talk." She stopped but didn't turn back. "If it please my lady," he added as a peace offering.

Thrusting her shoulders back, she took off her cloak. Jaime saw a glimpse of long steady legs under her nightdress whilst she walked over to the table, and he wondered if they were toned with muscles like the arms that sheathed the sword, and how must it felt having those lanky legs wrapped around him. He felt himself stirring again. It had passed a long while since the last time he touched a woman. He'd considered it a couple of times, but every time he had forsaken. With Hilda he came close, but whores really were suited more for Tyrion's bed, not for his. But now, in the morrow, the whole camp was going to talk about the Maid of Tarth spending the night within his tent. It was a low move, setting her in such a trap, but she had done worse to him. Once she was settled, he cleared his throat, and announced… "I have come to the decision to leave my place in Kingsguard and take the lordship of Casterly Rock."

… and watched Brienne as her mouth opened in a so unladylike manner, gaping at him. The sight of her came to him oddly pleasing. "But—but you—you swore-"

"—to serve and protect my King," he cut in, "which I will, but not as his sworn Lord Commander," he remarked placidly, "I cannot protect him like this anymore."

"I do not understand," Brienne said, and he knew she really did not. "Why being a Kingsguard is not enough?"

"My uncle Ser Kevan is dead, he was murdered. The city is in upheaval. Half of Tyrell forces are still in the city waiting for Margaery's trial, as my sweet sister waits for hers in Red Keep, surely plotting their demise after what they did to her."

Brienne's brows furrowed with a scowl. "What did they do to her?"

"They made her walk naked from Baelor's Sept to Red Keep for atonement—"

Brienne's face was a show of horror… "On the matter of you two…" she faltered on the words, running her eyes away.

"On the matter she slept with our cousin Lancel Lannister and two of Kingsguard," Jaime remarked, his voice as dry as leaves in false winter.

Brienne didn't speak for a while, and Jaime waited until she chewed down all she had heard. "Did you know—about her-?" she asked at last, "I mean—breaking faith with other men?"

He gave her a cool look. Why would it matter to her? "No," he said curtly, "I heard it from Tyrion when I set him free from the dungeons, but did not believe until my cousin later confessed it."

"Jaime—I—I—" There was a soft look over her face, as if she pitied him.

"Are you sorry?" He spat out at her, "For me? For a man who was defiling his own sister?"

The soft look over her face vanished, a deep scowl coming in its place. "I've learned not to judge before seeing what lay beneath."

"Why, my Lady of Tarth," he snickered in feign astonishment, "You've become as worldly as me." Brienne's scowl deepened as her swollen lips flattened, and she made a move to stand—He reached out his good hand. "My lady, please, I apologize. I was not kind."

Slowly she rested back in her chair. "Are you to be the Hand of the King, then, ser?"

He shook his head. "To be Regent. Mace Tyrell is the Hand of The King. When Cersei was in captivity at Great Sept, Uncle Kevan ruled as Tommen's regent and Lord Mace was appointed as the Hand. I cannot undo that without breaking the alliance between our families further." He paused, letting out a small sigh. What his uncle did was the best cause of action but now… "Uncle Kevan tried his best to undo the damage Cersei had left, but now she is back again, and he is dead."

The shock came at her face at sudden. "You think—your sister did it?"

He pushed down another sigh. Could she really do it? He had no answer. He was sure no more what Cersei was capable of. "I do not know," he admitted. "Someone killed him. Perhaps it's her, perhaps Tyrells, or someone entirely else. Either way, I have to be there." He paused for a second, trying to gauge her reaction if he also would tell her about Stormlands. The letter was vague on the matter. He did not know if the invasion had reached to her homeland yet, and he did not want to upset her, not now. He kept his mouth shut.

"So you will claim Casterly Rock?" Brienne asked after his brief pause.

"I _am_ the rightful heir," Jaime pointed out, turning his thoughts away from the foreign invaders, "I do not need to claim anything. It's my birthright. I only need to disavow my position in Kingsguard as my father wished me so many times before."

Brienne looked at him. "Why didn't you before?" she asked.

Because elsewise he could not be with Cersei, because elsewise he would have needed to be responsible of an entire House, wondering every decision if he had chosen the right thing and what if he had chosen wrongly… Now, looking backwards, he found himself wondering if even his love for Cersei was an escape from that responsibility. Life as a sworn knight was simpler. You dutifully did what you were told to… _and look how that turned out for you, Kingslayer…_ "Ruling is not for me," he said, giving a half shrug, "I just wanted to live like the knights in the songs—honor and glory-"

And Brienne was looking at her, her eyes were soft, yet she spoke, "You're not like the knights in the songs, Jaime."

His face closed off, but he accepted, "No. I am _not_." _There is no one like me, only me…_

But Brienne shook her head, and continued, "If I ever learned anything it's that life is not like in the songs. You came back for me, you saved me. Aemon the Dragonknight could endanger his life for his fair maiden, but could he risk his life for a freak like me?" She shook her head again. "No, I do not think so."

He looked at her in silence, and wide blue eyes looked at him back. "Don't call yourself a freak," he told her finally after a long pause, turning his eyes away, "I don't like hearing it, from you all above."

Her cheeks reddened. "Do you think they will let you?" she then asked, "The White Brotherhoods' oaths are taken for life."

Jaime stood up from the table and walked over the cabinet where his squires kept the wine. For a moment, he thought of asking Pia for warming the wine but decided against it. He wanted them to be alone, having a feel that this moment—this talk had to be just between them, and no one else. He took the cold wine and poured them a drink.

"For life, yes, but Cersei had already broken it when she sent away Ser Selmy. So the door opened. The loss of my hand also makes it debatable." He carried the copper cup to her first, and holding his, he walked back to his seat and sat down. "The High Septon probably won't like it, but he can be persuaded."

He took a mouthful sip from the wine. The only real problem was Cersei's trail as she was also accused of incest. Luckily the only proof for that accusation was Stannis Baratheon's blasted letters and they could not accuse him with the word of an excommunicated. And he still had a Lannister host with him. He would _very_ like to see them try to detain him. The small council's letter was enough of a proof that they were afraid of him. "Small council already offered me regency. High Septon ought to listen to them."

Brienne's eyes widened. "They _already_ offered you the regency?"

He nodded. "As long as Cersei waits for her trail, she cannot rule. When the council heard I am back from wilderness, they sent me the word. Tyrells know that I'm the only Lannister left with power after uncle's death. They must fear how I would act if they try to take the regency for Tommen." He flashed at her a crooked smile, "I do have a certain reputation, you know."

Ignoring his last remark, Brienne scowled, a thoughtful frown forming over her brows. "But…but if you still can be regent without putting off your white cloak, Jaime, why do you forsake your oath?"

_Because life is never that simple._ "Because it's time for me to be a man grown," he said truthfully, "My House is at the brink of collapse, Brienne, and I stand at a crossroad. My father is dead, my uncle is dead, my sister is disgraced, and my only brother is a kinslaying outlaw. I have to choose. Either I restore back my family to its glory or let it rest to ruin. I cannot let that happen." _I am a Lannister. I'm the Lannister heir. _He could see it now. It was time for him to accept the truth. _I need you to become the man you were always meant to be. Not next year, not tomorrow...now._

And as if she finally understood, Brienne also nodded. "I wish there was some way for me to help you—"

Jaime directed his eyes at her, graciously taking the opening she had given him. "In truth, there is, my lady."

She shook her head. "If it's my sword—" She paused, "I know I'm in your debt, but—"

He cut her off, "It's not your sword I'm asking," he said, "I already have the command of the Lannister host. No, I don't need your sword, though I would not say no to the hand that wields it."

It took a moment before her eyes widened as she realized what exactly he was asking.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six:

_Brienne_

She must have misheard or missed something. It was madness what she had heard, simply folly, so she must have misheard or missed something. Jaime was drinking from his cup in silence whilst watching her intently. Briefly, she thought to run, go to her tent and pretend that this midnight conversation had never happened. Yes, she could do that. She glanced at his pavilion's flap. "Are you not going to speak, my lady?" Jaime asked, resting his drink carefully on the table. "I know it's a bit surprise—"

_Surprise?_ "Have your senses have taken leave of you, Ser," she exclaimed, "We cannot wed."

He tilted his head aside, and gave her a curious look. "Pray to tell why?"

_You're a Lannister and I'm the big freak_, came to the tip of her tongue, but she held it. "We—we don't love each other."

That got a bark of laughter out of him. "Your naivety still astonishes me. Do you think marriage is about love?" he asked, "Do you think your father wed your mother because he loved her? I bet he didn't even know her before they were betrothed."

For that, she had no answer. Her lord father had met her mother on their betrothal. Brienne suddenly felt herself in danger. This—this was dangerous. It was best if she didn't push it. So she stood up and bowed slightly at him. "Ser—I'm honored," she said respectfully, "But I must decline. I cannot wed you."

She turned and started walking out. He laughed behind her. "Oh—you flee now. I must have figured."

He _was_ mocking her… even asking her hand, he was mocking her. Anger flashed inside her. "You asked for my hand, and I said no," she forced out through clenched teeth, "what else to talk more?"

His laughter dropped. His face became serious as he stood up from his seat. "Brienne, please sit," he said, gesturing the chair, "let me explain." He paused, and confessed, "I wasn't planning to ask you like this. It's strange for me, as well."

She didn't walk back to the table but she didn't walk away either. She just stood there, waiting. Gods have mercy, she knew she shouldn't, she just had to run off. But somehow her feet weren't listening to her will. "If I'm to restore my family and prove myself as Lord of Casterly Rock, you know what I need. A lord isn't a _lord_ lest he has his own progeny. I need to wed and produce an heir."

Nodding, she agreed. "Yes—you need to wed, and you can take anyone as your bride. Marriages aren't about love." She turned aside again to leave, oddly satisfied with herself, "Go ask someone else."

His face soured. "So if I can take anyone as my bride, and marriages aren't about love, why _not_ you?" he snickered behind her back. "Or perhaps you think you deserve better than Kingslayer? Ser Hyle, if I assume correctly? I heard he'd already asked your hand. Is that so? You want to be _his_ wife?"

"I don't want to be his wife," she almost screamed at him, turning. "I don't want to be anyone's wife!" Gods be good, this was getting out of control, just like she expected. Her steps should have not faltered to listen this.

"Then what are you going to do, wench?" Angrily, he pushed himself up, tumbling his chair behind and came at her. "Are you going to look for the Stark girl until someone finally chopped your head off?" He caught at her elbow with his left hand and dragged her before his tall looking glass. He turned her aside, his hand still clutching her tightly and made her face with her reflection in the mirrored glass.

"Look at yourself—" She didn't, she couldn't. "Look at yourself, _Brienne-_" She slowly raised her eyes, and looked… "Is this really what you want for yourself? Is this the way to save Sansa, to stop the war?" His anger suddenly quenched, he released her. "I'm offering you another path. You know I will always treat you with respect, I will always be true to you, will never cheat on you—and you know I will do everything in my power to stop the war, so you won't need to save any children anymore. I can give you your own children, to relish and to love and to protect." His eyes searched for her eyes. "Would you choose this—" He pointed at the looking glass then took her hand lightly in his, "or this?"

She felt like she was about to cry. He knew how lost she felt, purposeless—useless and what he said was true, he could given her own children, and he would always be loyal to her, she knew that but then her eyes caught the sight of her hand in his, almost as big and calloused as his… Brienne the Beauty. She shook her head again. "You could give them to anyone," she said, "Why _me_? Ser Hyle wants me because he wants my lord father's estate. But you're a Lannister, and Tarth is only a small isle. You ought to wed a Tyrell or another Great House like yourself."

For a moment, his brows furrowed, he looked like he was considering it then remarked thoughtfully, "A maiden once told me Tarth has waters that glint in the sun like sapphires."

Her own words on his lips almost made her cry out desperately— "Why do you want _me_?" She had to know. She had to understand. All of them wanted something, played at something. If she-

"I suppose lately you're the only woman I don't mind being around," Flinching, she pulled her hand back. "I was telling you no lies, Brienne. I never wanted to rule, never wanted to wed. But now so I have to, I thought I'd at least find a woman whose existence doesn't make me wish a nail in my head."

"You're such a sweet tongue, my lord," she seethed.

He shrugged. "I always tell you true." He paused, "Which also condemns me to remind you that you've been in my tent for hours in this nightly hour, only in your nightdress. By the morrow, every mouth in the camp will talk about how you spent the night with me."

She looked at him, astonished. "You—_you_ asked for me."

"Yes, and you came. As a highborn lady, you could always decline." He smirked and gave her a look. "By the bye, why did you _come_?"

Wordlessly, she shook her head at him. "How many times did I save your maidenhood, Brienne?" he paused, as if to count, "Three times or more? From where I see it, _it_ already belongs to me."

"Is it what you want, ser?" she asked, hurt, her eyes filling in tears, "if you want to have me—you only need to ask. I'm not a Lannister, but I also pay my debts."

It wasn't a jape. If he asked her of that, she was ready to give it away. It would hurt less than his words. But he shook his head. "I only want you to be my wife, Brienne." He paused, as if coming to a decision, and she expected him to end this folly but he said, "Very well then. We shall do it in your way."

She felt the danger again. "My way?"

He gave her a look. "I heard once you made a suitor fight with you for your hand. If we fight and I win, will you consent?"

Thoughts whirled in her mind… and she found herself saying, "I told him no man would command me lest he bested me in a fair fight."

Jaime smiled, catlike and keen. She trembled. "Then it's settled." He nodded, and grabbed her at the arm. "Come, my lady. Let us dance."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven:

_Jaime_

Dragging her out of his tent toward her own, Jaime found himself amused by the turn of the events. Granted, he had expected some reluctance from Brienne, for she could never let herself be swayed over her feet at the prospect of the marriage, even with her affections for him.

Not that he had given her anything to be swayed over, either. His plain yet true words had only made her insecurities grew sterner, he was aware, yet he could still not tell her lies. All in his life he had never wished to marry anyone but Cersei, but so much water had passed under that bridge now. If he was to be the Lord of the Rock, wedding was just a matter of duty.

Perhaps she was even right. A Tyrell or a Dorne would be a better bride, providing more men and support, perhaps even a Baratheon. A marriage would unite the realm again—then he thought of Stannis Baratheon. No. A lot of water had passed under that bridge, as well. There was no chance in seven hells Stannis would recognize Tommen as the King, with marriages or not. So the best option was a Tyrell, but Tommen had already wed one and Mace Tyrell was the Hand, so what was the point? He supposed a Tully or an Arryn would be as good as a Bolton or Dorne… and who knew he could always get himself a slit throat as a wedding gift. He shuddered. Gods have mercy on him, he really hated politics. With Brienne, he could be at least sure that she would never betray him. _I never finished in her womb…_

He pushed the thought away forcefully and looked at Brienne, who was still walking beside him as if she was going her own execution. Renly Baratheon had taken it all wrong. Brienne wasn't absurd. Whether it was with her queer fascination with swordplay, or with her stubbornness, or with her naivety, she was amusing. In an odd way, her presence had even grown on him. He hadn't told her lies, for as of lately, she was truly the only woman whose presence did not anger him.

Before her tent, she lingered, her eyes casting stolen glances around the folk that still lingered in the camp's ground. She was covered with her fur cloak again, but her night dress was still visible underneath the hem and he could almost see her mind wheeling behind her eyes. _Yes, wench, everyone will talk about you at the morrow._

For a moment, he wondered if she started simpering… but thanks to gods she composed herself a second later, and announced placidly… "Perhaps it is the best if we do this in a more private place, Ser Jaime?"

A sly smirked appeared over his lips. "Like where, my lady?" he asked sweetly, "in your tent, perhaps?"

She gave him a seething look. "I just don't want you to be riddled by a woman before your men."

He smiled further. "Ah, the sureness of the self… the delusions of youth—" he remarked with a lazy drawl, "You remind me of someone."

"Who?" she asked with a frown.

"_Me._" He shouted at her squire. The young boy rushed out of the tent like a blot, and he cut of his muttered "my lord—sers". "Ready your Lady at once," he ordered the boy, gave Brienne a respectful half bow. "My lady. I'm waiting you at the practice yard."

Before the night aged in full moon, Brienne had come, still looking in doubts. He picked up a tourney sword and offered it to her. Hesitantly she took it from him. "Jaime—"

"Enough of it, Brienne," he interrupted, his patience growing thin, amused or not, he was not going to have her dally no longer. "We made a pact. Honor it, will you?"

She gave him a cool look. "I didn't give my word, my Lord," she remarked, "By the side, I already bested you."

"When I was in tetters, depraved for months," he reminded her curtly, "Very honorable victory, indeed."

She opened her mouth, and this time he cut her off with a sharp swung, his blade making a wide arc over and landed on her left side. She looked at him, her eyes widened. "Are you going to talk all night?" he asked, feigning mild boredom, "I want to take at least a catnap before the day breaks."

She gave him another seething look, then raised her own arm in defense. "If you would ask a Tyrell, you can take all the sleep you would like," she sneered, "even with her perchance."

He made a tsk, clinking his tongue. "You've become vile, woman, vile," he told her in a mock anger, stepping to her right side, and moved away from a coming blow, "If only you see a Tyrell squeaking, you would never suggest one."

They were going both slow, more battling with their tongues then swords. "You could always ask Dornish, my lord," she shot back, coming at him again, and this time it hit him at the right side, "I hear they're very fond of squealing, if it please you."

"But you _are_ vile," Jaime exclaimed, in a mock courting as he swung his arm in a wide arc and thrusted. She parried in the air above their head. Their sword met in the middle, the blunt steel signing in the empty night. He smirked. Soon the camp would stir and awake. "Why are you so bent on seeing me with a knife at my back?" She looked at him, stupefied for a second before he broke the contact of their swords.

Surprised, she took a step back. He circled her predatorily. Wary, she looked at him long, following his feet, trying to assess his next move. "But really, what have I ever done to you to deserve such enmity, my lady?" He stepped out again when she tried to close in him, "I saved you more than I can count, I followed you without question when you asked help, I treated you with nothing but respect—hmm, perhaps with a little than respect, but what it is a few barbs and japes between friends?" She glowered, "_And_ you want me to wed a Tyrell?" He shook his head, and went in for the killer stroke but not with his sword, "Would you have said no to your dear Renly if he asked your hand?" He paused, as if to think profoundly. Brienne was looking at him oddly now, her arm almost lowered, her defenses weakened. "Or perhaps you did. He _did_ wed a Tyrell after all." He smirked again, "But really. What would you have said if Renly asked to wed you?"

"That's different," she almost screamed, and he knew he did hit a point.

"How so?" he asked, curious, "Because you _loved_ him?"

"Why you're doing this?" Brienne asked, tears now shining in her eyes, turning her blue brighter, "Renly was only kind to me—"

He cut her off, twisting his blade further, "For buying your loyalty. Loras Tyrell told me when _I_ put you in a tower cell to protect you from him," he reminded her. _He, _it had been always him who was there for her, not Renly, not Catelyn, not anyone else, o_nly_ _him_. "He said Renly found you absurd but still kept you around because he knew you would die for him."

She lowered her arm, the swordplay forgotten. He did, too. What was the point of trying to hurt each other with blunt edged swords when you could do much worse with words? "And I amuse you," she spat, "Is that why _you_ want to keep me around?"

He closed in on her, "Remember what I told you? You're the only woman whose existence doesn't make me wish a nail in my head."

She gave him a long look. "Even your sister?" Her voice was small but stern, and she did not run her eyes away. "What _really_ happened between you two?" she pressed further. "If you really wish to marry me, you owe me an answer."

"Life—" he told her, looking at her, "Life happened, Brienne."

"Why?" she asked, her tone now almost imploring, and he saw unshed tears in the depths of those big blue eyes… "Why _me_?" She took a step forward, inches apart of him, "Tell me, and I'm yours."

He looked at those mesmerizing eyes… So big, so blue, so true, like they had never known any lie. He could not tell her lies… Why, he asked to himself, but he could find no answer… Yes, he knew she would never betray him, yes, he trusted her, but was that enough? He did not know.

In his silence, she closed in on him. "You think I would die for you, too, Jaime?" She paused, "But I almost did, did not I?" Her right hand rose toward her neck, brushing the barely visible scar over her neck. "It wasn't Renly I almost died for, it was you." She was a scant few feet apart from him now, and he could smell her breath, favored with mint and cinnamon, and suddenly he found himself wondering how it would be like kissing her…

"Funny isn't it…" he said, lifting his eyes at hers, "I almost died for you, _too_. Something Renly would never do." He grasped her hand that still held her sword, "Or any knight in the songs."

She shook her head and accepted, still looking at him. "No. There are no knights like you in the songs."

He gave her a sly smile, apart from her a hairbreadth away. "There are no _men_ like me, Brienne. _Only me_."

"Only you," she affirmed, and he knew he finally had her. He fingers brushed over her wrist, "Let it go, Brienne," he ordered her softly, "Yield."

She let out a shaky breath, but didn't drop the sword, "Would—would you let me to take it again if I did?" she asked to be certain.

His eyes heated, he gave her a look. "This is where we kiss, Brienne, not parley. _Yield._"

"Will you?" she demanded, ignoring him.

"You will be Lady of the Rock," he said then, "You will be a mother. You cannot expect me to let you wander off playing knights."

"I will not wander off, I will not play knights. But would you let me wield it if I deem it necessary?"

He shook his head. "I cannot give you my word on that aforetime," he answered truthfully, "But if that is what you wish, if the time ever comes, I swear, I will listen to you truly."

She nodded, her hand now shaking. But she did not drop the sword. Jaime brought his hand back on her again. "Brienne—" He held her hand, "Let it go."

"I—I'm afraid."

He knew she was; he could hear her heart beating in her chest madly as she trembled like a leaf in the wind. "Do not be," he told her, "You have me now." He took her in his arms.

Looking at him wildly with those big blue eyes, trembling against him, she dropped the sword at his feet.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Thank you for the guests reviews, they made my day. Glad to see there are people out there enjoying this. Hope you'll stick around._

_Updating three chapters at once. _

* * *

Chapter Eight:

_Jaime_

In the triangular solar of Riverrun, Jaime looked the paper in his hand, his furrowed brows deepening a line across his forehead. He had anticipated an angry, verbose letter from Cersei when she had heard the news, but the message contained only one word, repeated thrice. _Traitor, traitor, traitor…_ Jaime sighed. So it had come to this.

A fortnight had passed since the night Brienne had yielded to him. On the morrow, Jaime had announced their betrothal, calling the scattered Lannister forces over Riverlands to gather back at Riverrun as he had initially planned before Brienne had lured him away at Pennytree. They had arrived at the castle a week past, and had been waiting all his men mass before he marched to Casterly Rock.

A man must do these things properly. He had decided to wed at home. Everyone had to see that he was playing no game. Once they arrived at Riverrun, he sent several ravens; one was for Tarth, formally asking the Lord of Evenfall Hall's consent for his daughter's hand. He'd also made Brienne write to her lord father to let him know that she gave her consent. He was still not certain of what was exactly happening in Stormlands, and he had not yet told Brienne about the foreign invaders, either. The reports were very confusing, rumors said very different things, and he could not be certain who exactly hired the sellswords. First it was Stannis, hiring them to seize the rest of Stormlands, then it was Jon Ronnighton to claim his ancestral seat back. Once it was even that Targaryen girl Robert had wanted dead. Jaime did not know which one to believe, but he knew sooner or later he would need to tell Brienne, but that time would wait a bit while longer.

He sent the other bird to Damion Lannister, the castellan of the Rock to notify his coming and make the arrangements for the wedding, and finally the last one was for King's Landing; for Small Council or whatever that was left of them. Their answer was short, cut to the point, informing him that Septon at the Rock had been ordered to denounce his vows, and His Grace was waiting for his arrival. Then this morning another raven came. He looked at his hand, _traitor, traitor, traitor… _

Was he? Was he really a traitor when _she_ betrayed him at every sense of the word? If he were a traitor, he would just march to King's Landing and take the throne. Who could resist him now? Tyrells? Riverlands? Vale? The small council that already gave him the regency in good faith? No, he wanted no bloodshed. Despite everything, Cersei was still his sister, his twin, his blood. He was trying to rebuild Lannisters, not tear it apart. A knock interrupted his thoughts and Hoster Blackwood came in. "My lord—" his new squire-hostage bowed his head respectfully, and informed him, "Maester Vyman is without."

Jaime nodded with a frown. Lately, Maester Vyman's visits had become frequent with the constant messages back and forth, and Jaime had no love for the old wrinkled man for he _knew_ with a certainty that the old man squeaked everything to his aunt. Genna Lannister directed at him a knowing look when he presented his betrothed to her, with a sly smile, though as she knew what he was trying. She had also given a long, hard look at Brienne, at her dirty road attire, her mouth having a turn downwards, and he did not like that, either. Brienne had played cool as if she had not noticed the dry contempt but Jaime had made a point to kiss her hand deeply before she had taken her leave to rest.

Then he had seen her scarcely, not unchaperoned nonetheless. Aunt Genna had almost taken a faint when she had heard the rumors, how they had vanished in the wilderness together, how she had spent one night in his tent, and _fought_, then decided to take on her own to make Brienne a proper lady befit to the Lady of Casterly Rock. He could still remember the imploring look Brienne gave to him when Aunt Genna had taken her arm, dragging her away, chatting about festivities, gowns, and bridal duties… "Oh, by Seven, look at you!" she exclaimed, "There isn't even a shade of red on you!"

The memory brought a brief smile over his lips as Maester Vyman walked in. His smile vanished as the old man held out another parchment to him. "My lord, another message arrived," he said, pausing a second, "From Tarth."

Bolting up from his seat, Jaime grabbed the parchment. He'd been waiting that reply for a while now. He unrolled the paper hastily, and his burrows furrowed grimly his jaw straining as he read the words.

"My lord-?" the old maester asked, "Bad news?"

The seal was unbroken. "Dark wings, dark words," Jaime intoned, and shouted, "Hoster!"

The bookish boy entered, "My lord."

"Tell Lady Brienne I wish her company for supper, if it please her." He turned to call for Peck too, "Peck, prepare a light meal for two at once." He knew Brienne still ate scarcely, but as of the late, he began to suspect that her reasons might be at his expense. She was making every effort to fit in, enduring even his aunt, and the more she became light, the more she became—ladylike.

"My—my lord?" Maester Vyman called out with hesitance, "For two? It would not do good supping with the lady alone—rumors—"

"-be damned," Jaime cut him off, swearing, and sent him away with a curt, "That'd be all, Maester."

The man left him, and Jaime pondered on how to explain the situation to her. She would not take the news well, might even accuse him of keeping it secret from him, which truth be told, he did. The rumors had reached to Riverrun, and he ordered no one would mention them in her presence. It had to be he who would break the news to her.

Peck and Pia started preparing the small table in the solar, bringing food and fruits from the kitchen, but before Brienne was presented, his aunt came by. Jaime let out a soft sigh. _Of course._ "_Jaime_—" His aunt cried out, walking to him, swinging her hips in a lazy strut.

"Lady Genna," Jaime greeted her respectfully as she landed a moist kiss on his cheek before she raised to her hand to pinch his ear like she always did—then she stopped herself. "Well, I cannot pinch you anymore, can't I?"

Jaime gave her a strained smile. "I would be glad if you did not, aunt."

Lady Genna laughed heartily, her enormous bosom moving, "Jaime—Jaime—look at you," she told him, "All lordly—This is all Tywin ever wanted of you. He would have been proud."

Jaime was not certain of that. If Tywin Lannister had seen him marrying Brienne—well, that would've been a sight to behold. Aunt Genna seated herself in the sofa in her leisure ways and unfolded a wrinkle at her crimson dress before she said idly, "Maester Vyman told me that you wish to sup with your betrothed unchaperoned tonight."

"Now, _did_ he?" Jaimed stressed out.

"I am his lady," Aunt Genna brushed off his hidden comment like she brushed off her dress, and looked at him directly in the eyes. "You had spent so much time alone with her. If her maidenhead—"

"Her maidenhead is intact. You do not need to worry about that."

She shook her head. "No—I meant that if you…somehow broke her, and if that's the reason why you're marrying—"

His face closing off, Jaime cut his aunt before she finished that sentence. "It is not," he said curtly, "She's still a maiden. We have not laid together." The look she gave him spoke in volumes. "Even though we did," he went on, ignoring the look, "a lion does not concern himself with the opinion of the sheep."

Aunt Genna smiled, all too sweetly, "Aye—but a lion also does _not_ mingle with the sheep." She paused for a second, and a wrinkle appeared above her lips as she pursed her lips in thought, "How many men Tarth does have? One hundred? I heard the isle is beautiful _but _worthless."

By seven hells, he did not need to hear this conversation again. Convincing Brienne had been already enough. "They have _enough_," he remarked coolly, "My lady, if that is all, mine sweet betrothed will soon arrive." _And will have my hide when she heard the news._

Aunt Genna rose from her seat, not minding his curt dismissal, "Traditions, Jaime, don't you forget it," she told him, strutting to the door, her voice almost singing, "The sheep will still want to see the bloody sheet."

Jaime almost let out a groan. The bloody sheet… A moment later, Hoster came inside again with a knock. "My lord, Lady Brienne is without."

He stood up and walked towards the door, suddenly feeling a hint of anticipation upon seeing her again. She was all clad in red, the fringes of her dress trimmed with golden, and the notion stirred him. He liked her seeing in blue, but seeing her in his colors was something else, like he owned a part of her now. _Soon I will own every part of her…_ Her waist was enclosed with a tight bodice, her hair swept to her left side to hide her scar gently falling over her flat-chested bust that the corset made swell in a way that he appreciated very. He imagined himself cupping those small but firm breasts lying beneath. He felt himself getting hardening and forced his thoughts turn away, and directed his eyes at her neck. There it was, a big ruby charm dangling at the end of a thick golden chain-collar that almost hid the scar over her neck; his betrothal present. He had taken out the ruby off his armor, had his armorer make a golden chain and gave it to her the next morning when he announced their betrothal. It was a rude thing, in the camp there was no jewelry craftsman, but since that morning he had never seen her without it. "Jaime—" she greeted him warmly with a small smile that not parting her lips, "I—" She paused, seeing the solar unoccupied—"Are we alone?"

Jaime gave her a half smile back. "I missed your company."

"Did they make you wish a nail in your head?"

"Oh, you have no idea, sweet lady." He stepped forward and took her in his embrace.

The act took her by surprise. First she tensed then slowly, as if remembering who he was, she relaxed. It had been a while, a long while she had been this close to him and he almost forgot how it felt. He had kissed her at the practice yard, but afterwards, he never caught another chance. He could feel the toned muscles even under the heavy velvet dress, once thick and hefty, now slender and lithe in his arms. She was like chiseled out of marble, firm and solid, but fitting perfectly against him. Her in velvet slippers, and him in high-soled leather boots, their length were almost equal as she snug further in him, his arms tightening around her waist. She stood steady, not like a porcelain doll that would break if he tightened his arms too much, but like steel tempered with fearlessness, honed with endurance, unyielding. _She had yielded to me…_ His mouth hungrily found hers.

She opened those swollen lips willingly, inviting him in as Aunt Genna's mocking voice flashed in his mind… _The sheep still will want to see the bloody sheet…_ But she was hot, and he was burning—throbbing painfully, and it had been long…so long… His arms pulled her up against him further on their own as he pushed her back behind the wall, deepening the kiss.

She let out a gasp when her back hit the wall, but she did not back down, tried to return his folly, only half knowing what she was doing. The notion boiled him even further, his blood ringing in his ear, grim news forgotten, her innocence was like wildfire to his passion… She was so innocent, even after all the things she had seen, had to endure, she was still not broken, not tainted, loyal to a fault, not like Cersei….

Suddenly all the burning quenched, his insides turned to cold. He pushed himself away off her—his hand almost trembling.

Her eyes widened in question, she looked at him, her gown's low neckline shifted aside, exposing her milk white bosom, though he could see redness climbing over her freckled skin toward her face, her swollen lips almost bruised by the force of his kiss.

He turned her eyes away from the sight to steady himself. Suddenly, he felt himself dirty. And not only because he had managed to think of Cersei kissing her madly but he had also been a hairsbreadth away from taking her maidenhead against the wall like she was a common tavern wench. "Supper is ready," he remarked with a strained voice, heeding for the table, "Best not cool it."

Her eyes still clouded in lust _and_ wariness, she nodded, adjusting her dress but didn't comment, instead seated herself on the chair beside his at the head of the table. The small dining table was still a wide one, but Pia had prepared it in a respected but intimate way, a crimson table cloth separated at their side, golden trimmed dishes and utensils at their disposal. She looked at him again strangely as he served her the first dish, a soup of vegetables he did not know from a big serving bowl. "Will you serve me yourself?"

He gave her a look. "Even with one hand I'm perfectly capable of serving a soup, yes."

Her cheeks reddened further. "No. I meant—where is Peck?"

"I sent him away," he replied, settling himself on his own seat, "We so scarcely see each other now. I wanted to talk to you alone."

Her eyes brightened. "Have you heard from my father?" she asked eagerly, "It has been a while you sent the word for him."

She knew him rather well, too, he thought, looking at the soup before him. "Yes. A raven came a few hours past," he told her, "He gave his blessing."

A full smile broke over her lips, a rare thing given that she almost never smiled fully. It revealed her horse teeth, mostly hid behind her puffy lips, but even that could not dampen the radiance that was oozing off her. She had been afraid that her father would not give his consent. "Did he write when he would depart for Casterly Rock? We should wait for him until he arrives," she told him, her voice turning a bit stern as if in a warning, "Else would be disgracious to him."

His head snapped at her, a scowl setting over his brows. "Do you think I would dishonor my father by marriage like that?"

"No—I—" she faltered then shook her head. "Everything happened so fast, Jaime. I know you do not wish to waste time, and Tarth is a long way from Casterly Rock."

_More than you know, Brienne… _"We argue to no point," he said, keeping his voice cool, "Your father will not attend the wedding."

Dropping her spoon, she looked at him. "What—why?" Jaime didn't answer. "Something is wrong," she declared then, looking at him, her eyes searching for truth. "Something is wrong," she repeated, "You wouldn't ask to be alone with me after the rumors if it weren't," she remarked and demanded, "Tell me what happened."

He still kept his silence. "Ser, tell me what happened?"

"Lord—"He corrected her absently, "I'm a Ser no more. You should call me 'my lord'—"

"They did not release you off your vows yet," she told him, "And you're still a knight. What happened?"

"Or—my sweet husband—"

"Not my husband yet, either," she shot back, "Jaime, what happened?"

"-My golden lion?"

Tears threatened to break over her eyes, her full lips trembling. "Jaime, what happened to my father?"

He looked at her, and finally answered, "Golden Company invaded Stormlands. Tarth has fallen." He paused, looking at her eyes, "He was taken captive, Brienne."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine:

_Brienne_

She could not believe that four words would change everything so quickly. _He was taken captive…_ Her insides were cold, so cold she felt like the fire in hearth at the corner of the solar had suddenly gone out. Was it she who had been burning inside just a couple of minutes past? Could it possible that someone would burn with such a passion that she only heard in lewd stories, something deep inside her tugging… wet, wet with fire, but now she felt like something had died in her. _He was taken captive…_

They had taken his father captive while she was dawdling in dresses, lounging idly—kissing—they had invaded her island, defiled her home, and had taken his father captive while she was _kissing_. She sprung to her feet. "Golden Company? _Why_ did they come for? Who hired them?" she asked without taking a breath.

"I do not know," he admitted, "Probably Stannis, but they have not claimed any name yet."

Her eyes squinted. "You _knew_ this before?!"

It was hardly a question, but Jaime answered regardless. "In their letter small council mentioned it, but I did not know of Tarth until to-day." He paused for a second, "I did not want to upset you before I became certain."

She shook her head, her heart breaking, "I cannot believe you." she spat, and started walking to the door.

"Brienne!" Jaime shouted after her, but she didn't stop. She didn't want to listen to him anymore. Her father needed her. She had to go. "Brienne—" His voice came closer as she reached the door. She held the metal knob but before she knew strong arms caught her, pulling her away from the door.

"Let me—" she shrieked, "Jaime—let go off me!" _I have to go… my father…_

"Hush—hush—listen to me—" He turned her toward him, still tightly holding her between his arms. She was taken captive, too… She felt wetness over her cheeks, and understood she was crying. "He is well," he told her, "Nothing foul has befallen onto him. They lay down their arms." She trembled, shame coming over her… she had failed, like everything in her life, she again failed. "Do you understand?" Jaime softly asked before he went on, "They must have him in a tower cell, but he's treated as befits his rank."

"You cannot know that."

"They gave him our messages. They even let him write an answer back," he reasoned with her, "I would never let that happen unless I have come to an accord with my captives. And I _would_ know," he said, voice full of assurance, "I have taken a lot of castles lately."

She gave him a look, full of disbelief. "Don't—_don't_ you dare to mock me with this!" she seethed between her teeth.

He dragged her towards the table again and seated her in her chair. "I'm telling you true," he said softly, standing up before her, leaning at the edge of the table, "There was no bloodshed. I am certain of it."

"How?"

He took out a small paper out of his pocket, "Because he so told me." He handed it to her, "Read."

She slowly unrolled the scroll with trembling hands. _The days are strange indeed. First, my seat was taken by foreign invaders, then a Lannister asked the hand of my daughter, and the same daughter assured me that a Lannister has honor. Tell her I am well, and there was no bloodshed. As for you, ser, I do not know of your honor, but if my daughter saw something worthy in you, then I must abide her. Tell her I love her so dearly. I lament now every day we spent apart, every moment I have not been there for her. Keep her safe, be true to her, and make her happy if you can. Whomever he to be, that is all a father would ask for._

With the last word, the paper dropped off her hands as she brought them over her face, and started crying like she had never done before. It was even worse than the time she had opened up to Elder Brother. It was like a dam had broken inside her, and everything—every bitterness, every hurt, every pain she had piled up against one on another since her childhood had come out. She had had to go because she was _so_ tired of being hurt, but everywhere else she went that bitterness had come with her, like it was a part of her that she could not get rid of. How one could get rid of oneself, she did not know. _No man should be cursed with such as you…_

Jaime's arms found her again, holding her as she cried, and for a moment, for a bizarre moment she thought if she could lay down her burdens, let him carry it for her—suddenly she knew she only would need to rest her head over his shoulders like she so had been tempted before and let him soothe her. He had been always there for her… the _only_ person had always been there for her, and she could do it… But what would happen to her if she did? Who would she be afterwards? What then she would become?

A fright she had only known after his proposal took her again, and she hastily pushed herself away from his embrace. "I must needs go," she said, almost to herself. She was not that woman. Whoever she might be, she was not that woman.

As if he understood her intentions, Jaime let out a deep sigh. "You know I cannot let you—"

"You promised—you promised me—"

"I only promised to listen to you, when the time comes, Brienne."

"Then _listen_ to me," she shouted at his face. "I cannot sit and decide which shade of white is more proper for a wedding while my father is captive."

She was expecting anger from him, but he looked at her in a resigned way. He shook his head, "This is why I did not tell you before…" he mumbled under his breath, then looked at her coolly, "Tell me, then, what would you if I let you?"

The question caught her off-guard even further. She was ready for a fight, not with reasoning with him. "I—I—" she thought for a moment, a plan of sorts, "I will ride to Tarth."

"And do what?" he asked, his voice curious, a bit mocking. She felt anger returning to her. "Demand that they return him to you? How do you figure they would respond to that?"

"And what did you do when Lady Catelyn took your brother captive?" she asked back, almost screaming at him, "You went to Eddark Stark, killed his men and started a war!"

"_Exactly_!" he exclaimed, "I started a war, to save my brother. Aside it being reckless, imprudent, and childish, that was what I accomplished." He stopped to give her a look, "If I let you, what _your_ childishness would accomplish?"

She was in silence now, only directing at him a withering look, but she realized what he was trying to tell her. "Naught," he answered his own question when she didn't, "It would accomplish nothing, aside getting you dead, of course."

_No chance, no choice, _she recalled."If it is, then so be it," she accepted, "It's my responsibility as only child to my father."

He frowned, looking at her, as if he was confused. "I think your father just charged me to keep you safe. From where in his letter did you get he would want that?"

"He does not need to. It's my duty."

"And what of your duties to me?"

She fidgeted where she stood, and ran her eyes away. Her word, her oath… He walked to her, demanding an answer, "Brienne?"

"We—we are not wed yet."

"But we are betrothed. We gave each other our word. Will you cast it away?"

Her eyes blurred again. "Jaime—" she said, her tone turning imploring, he had to understand. "I—I cannot sit here doing nothing."

"You _fool_," He shook his head, taking a step closer to her, "To _whom_ do you think you're wed to? Do you really think that I would sit idly and watch while foreigners invade my King's lands and defile my lady wife's homeland?" Her heart suddenly started beating madly, "When my brother was taken captive I started a war, Brienne, what do you think I would do if someone hurt my wife to be?"

"I—I—" she faltered.

"—did not think," He completed for her, "You never think," he said, cupping her cheek against his good palm, a soft, kind gesture she had never seen him doing before, but his eyes took a dangerous glint. "Enough with that, I cannot have you like this anymore. You will bear my children, my seeds. It's time for you to be a woman grown, too. Do you understand?"

Running her eyes away, she nodded. "I learned my lessons at hard way, Brienne." His fingertips found the scar over her cheek. "Wasn't this enough for you?"

In silence, she nodded again. He dropped his hand, and took a step back. "I'm calling my banners in westerlands," he stated in a cool voice, composed and assured, and it made her recall the man who was ready to go to war with Vargo Hoat in her sake, the Lion of Lannister. _My savior…_ "The river lords will raise a host as well. They will march here to meet with the rest of my forces as we ride a column to Casterly Rock. We will wed there before we march to Stormlands. It's nigh time we put an end to this."

It was all good, aside one thing, a small but essential thing. "No," she said, shaking her head. "Casterly Rock and Stormlands are at the opposite sides, but Riverrun is in the middle. If we go to Casterly Rock to wed, we only lose time."

From the way his borrows knitted into a frown, she could see he was thinking over what she had said. "So what do you propose instead?" he asked.

"We—we wed here at Riverrun, and start marching to East. The rest of the forces will join us later on the road."

He shook his head. "No. Lords of House Lannister wed beneath the golden dome of Lannister Sept, it always has been like that. I'm not going to break that tradition."

"Well, _think _as you just commanded me to—" She shot him at his words back, "Is it this or we might just have to siege King's Landing." She paused, "They needed Tarth before they would start for Blackwater Bay."

"Or they are afraid from an incoming attack from Blackwater Bay," he mused aloud. "Invading Tarth is the only way to keep the northern coastline safe."

She crossed her arms under her chest stubbornly. "You might be right, but I might be right too. Is it worth to take the risk?" He knew she had a point, but he didn't give in. She pressed on, "Lannister's golden sept, or Riverrun's. What makes the difference? The gods see us from everywhere."

He shook his head, as if disgusted. "It isn't about gods, it is about _us_. It's my house's oldest tradition."

"And it _is_ my father."

She hoped that would get him accept it, but he still looked not convinced. She went on with a desperate attempt, "It's either you wed me here, Jaime, or you go to your Rock and find yourself a Tyrell bride and wed her under that golden tome of yours because I'm _not_ going to west."

His head snapped back at her, his cat-like green eyes alight. "I _thought_ we stopped being childish."

"So did I!"

"Fine!" he spat out at her, "We wed at Riverrun, and I will be the first Lannister in all history that wed outside his seat of power!" Suddenly he grabbed her at arms, his golden hand cold even over the velvet of her dress, and drove her back against the wall. Her breath quickened, as something coiled deep inside her. She looked at him, her eyes mesmerized. "The things I do for you…" he muttered, his gaze heavy on hers, his eyes on fire.

"Jaime—" she whispered, leaning on in for a kiss. She wanted to be kissed again, she wanted to feel that heat, his fire devouring her…

But shaking his head, he took a step back. "Go now… before I break another tradition tonight."

"What's tradition?" she mumbled out, her eyes still caught on his.

"Lords of the Rock only wed maidens whose maidenheads are still intact on the wedding night," he told her solemnly. "Go."

She didn't make him say the command the third time. Hastily gathering her skirt, she ran to the door.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten:

_Jaime_

It was almost around midday the next day when Jaime summoned his informal council to inform them what he had decided. _They will think I get mad_, he reflected. _I _must_ be mad doing this… _He had never been a decent man or strong in Faith but he _was_ a Lannister. Lord of Casterly Rock not wedding under Golden Tome seemed to him as sacrilegious as Lord Commander of Kingsguard fucking in the White Sword Tower. _The things I do for love… _This…whatever it was between them, was getting out of control, he was fully aware. _Why me_, her voice echoed in his mind… why it had to be _her_ he still did not know. And he had _always_ known with Cersei. She was a part of him, they shared a womb together, being them together, sharing that too… it had seemed…natural. Jaime had never even needed to ask himself for a reason, never needed to ask "why her but no one else?" Being with Brienne was alike trying to find an answer for a question that was never asked before. He cast a quick side glance at her as if he could catch an answer over her face, but it was the same glowering look he saw as she sat beside his right, staring at the wall, ignoring everyone else. Oh, he _knew_ that look. He had seen it countless times on their way back. _Why her, indeed?_

Restraining a sigh, he turned away his gaze from her and announced, "I've decided to delay no longer. We need to march to Stormlands at once." He cleared his voice before he continued, "I wed here in Riverrun."

A silence fell in the solar, their faces shocked, no noise uttered, and Jaime watched serenely as they worked out the folly he had just said.

Aunt Genna, who was seated at his left side, was staring openly at him, mouth open, her face as dismayed as though he had told her he had decided to become a Stark. Aunt Genna's pitiful Frey dog of a husband was beside her as usual, looking at her. Across him, Maester Vyman looked like right at the moment he wanted to be anywhere but here with them. Jaime could hardly fault the man for that. His cousin Devan Lannister, who had denounced his Warden of the West title before they had arrived back Riverrun, looked merely displeased, but aside that his reflection was impossible to read. For the last, his eyes caught on Brienne. Sensing his gaze on her, she finally acknowledged him, turning her head slightly, and Jaime had expected to find stubborn defiance there but her eyes were soft, almost imploring, almost saying…_please_, _please…_ and he found himself again stirring, something squeezing in his chest… _The Others take you damn woman! _He had best make certain that Brienne never knew what kind of power those eyes wielded over him.

It was his aunt that finally broke the silence, and Jaime was almost happy to hear her high exclaiming voice, "You cannot be serious in this." Her eyes darted towards Brienne, as if she knew exactly who was to blame with that, "You cannot wed anywhere but Casterly Rock."

As if he needed his aunt to tell him that… "I have decided, aunt." He hoped his voice would incline that he would brook no argument.

It was not taken, of course. "It _is_ folly."

"It's sensible," he countered, "Our enemy is at East, and we're in the center of the realm. We cannot turn to West." He returned to his cousin. "What say you, coz?"

"I agree with Lady Genna," the younger man answered, as though it pained him to say it, "No Lord of Casterly Rock has ever wed outside the Golden Dome." Jaime opened his mouth but he could utter a word, Devan continued, "But I also agree with you. Casterly Rock is a great deal away and I'm afraid this threat at East is not the only one we would face soon." He paused, handing a message to Jaime, "We've received a bird from Lord Bolton at the morrow."

Jaime raised an eyebrow. "Lord Bolton wrote to us?" He was still not officially Regent, customs declared that he should write to the Crown.

His cousin gave an eased shrug, his lips forming a smirk. "You're the Lannister with the Lannister army." He gave him a look before continuing, "I'm certain he also sent another raven to King's Landing." He shrugged again, as if it made no difference, and perhaps it made not. "He tells after defeating them at the Wall, Stannis has been letting wildings pass to south of the Wall if they swear to fight for his cause. As the _King,_" his cousin leered with almost disgust, "He's given them Gift. Lord Bolton's words were afire."

Jaime could understand. The fertile plains in North were as treasures as water in desert. Besides, Lord Bolton would like as much as he did having another King giving away lands, fertile or not. "What does Night Watch say but?" Aunt Genna's Frey husband asked, the apple of his throat moving with each word, "It's their lands. And they're not supposed to take sides with the politics of the realm."

Jaime laughed at that. "Night Watch sides with the one who saved their skins," he pointed out, "It was Stannis who came to their help when wildings attacked the Wall."

Beside him, when Brienne finally spoke, her voice was concerned. Jaime knew it was for Sansa Stark. Even though she had given up searching for the girl, she still cared for her. "But why did they attack the Night Watch?"

This time it was Jaime who gave away a shrug. "Winter's hard in the North. It must be even harder beyond the Wall," he mused aloud, "Perhaps their lands yielded to cold, perhaps they have no water left, or perhaps they are just bloody bored. Who would know?" For starting a war, he could name a million different reasons. It was not like that it would make a difference.

With a nod, Devan agreed with him. "It's just all more reasons for us to act with haste," he said, "Lord Bolton's letter also says that Iron Bank sent a representative to Stannis after Cersei declined to pay royal debts, and they came to an agreement. Stannis accepts the Crown's debts to Iron Bank, in exchange Iron Bank accepts to give him loans."

Jaime's face hardened. Wildings fighting along with Stannis meant almost nothing. It was even better for Bolton's claim as Northmen hated wildings, and a King who followed another God who was neither the olds nor the new could not gain the smallfolk's support. But Iron Bank was another matter. Iron Bank was coins. Cersei would have never crossed with Iron Bank. _What the seven hells were you thinking, sweet sister? _

"And Stannis more likely bought himself a sellsword army, bringing it at our back as we dawdled here—" Jaime forced out, his voice a hiss. _If you were here, sister, I would strangle you with my golden hand. _"If Boltons cannot hold the North, they will ask our support." He forced out a laugh, "And how would it seem to our dear Lord Bolton if we rode to help Freys at Riverrun but didn't return their calls at Winterfell?" He shook his head. "If it comes to that, we need our back secure."

Aunt Genna stirred on her seat uncomfortably, for once her usual lewd gestures forgotten, "Cersei had already made a garrison of Freys ride to Winterfell. The Crown supports their cause."

Jaime first gave a pitying look at her husband, _Lord_ Emmon Frey, and returned at her. "Aye, I remember how well Freys were dealing with Riverrun before I arrived."

Emmon Frey raised a thin hand in the air, "Ser—we—we were just biding our time to have them surrender peacefully. We could not have them destroy the castle. It was given—"

Jaime cut him off curtly, "—to _you_, I remember." _And you just sat here, doing nothing_. He turned to Devan. "Cousin, prepare a column to Winterfell, two hundred riders will suffice. Lyle Crakehall should take the command. He's newly arrived from Darry. Tell Lord Bolton the Crown has come to assist. I want to know everything happening in North. I trust no Bolton."

His voice was absolute. He was no foreign to give commands, he was born to give commands; he was the first son of Tywin Lannister, he was the Commander of Lannister hosts and of the Kingsguard but somehow this time it felt different. The man who spoke wasn't those anymore; the man who spoke was the Lord of Casterly Rock.

So it was no surprise to see Devan simply nodding, "As you command, my lord." With the corner of his eyes, he caught Brienne giving him a look again. But it was a stern look, though filled with…proud…? He could not tell.

Aunt Genna though wasn't so easy to cow. She had spent the most of her life under Tywin Lannister's shadow, the only woman who had dared to cross him. "Tyrells will not like it—" she remarked mildly.

"I'm trying to save their arses," Jaime shot back. He could not care a fig what Tyrells would feel at the moment. "They will get around."

Aunt Genna pursed her lips, "They will think you're meddling with the Crown's affair before you officially assumed Regency."

_I am meddling, aunt…_ "They may think whatever they please," Jaime remarked shrugging, and smirked, exchanging a look with Devan, "I _am_ the Lannister with the Lannister army."

"You _are_ also the Lannister who wed at Riverrun. What do you think your men will think of it?"

His eyes burned with a cold fire. "What they have always thought of me. Make no mistake, my lady, I've spent my entire life fighting shoulder to shoulder with these men. No men among them call me Kingslayer. They _only_ call me Lord Commander." His men loved him, followed him easily, always loyal to him. More than anything he trusted that.

His cousin looked at him thoughtfully. "Shouldn't our Lord paramount of Riverlands be informed?" Devan asked, looking around as if to find the aforesaid man, "Where is Lord Petyr? Why is he not still here to take his lordship?"

Lord Emmon started, "Ser, Riverrun is not his—" but Jaime cut him off, he had already heard what the wheezy man would say a hundred times.

"He's still at Vale, and will remain there until the Lords of the Vale swears fealty fully." Truth be told, he had sent a letter to Littlefinger if he could spare a garrison, but Lord Petyr had answered that his work had still undone, and he could not leave yet. Even before his uncle had been murdered, Jaime had been thinking of Lord Petyr as the Hand, so he was not particularly happy with the decision but let it slide at the time. He turned to Master Vyman. "Maester Vyman, send the word of my intentions to the Crown, send another raven to High Septon that I am to denounce my vows and wed here Riverrun." He paused for a second, "Who is the septon here?"

"Septon Castor, if it please my lord," the old maester answered, "Shall I inform him as well?"

Jaime thought if the septon would raise any objections before the instructions arrived from the High Septon, but he decided he did not care. He would deal with the brother himself if the holy man dared. He nodded, "Aye. Tell him I wish to wed at evenfall after next."

Both Brienne and Aunt Genna exclaimed at the same time. "After next?"

Ignoring the older woman, Jaime looked at Brienne. There was a horrified look over her face, for once her expression clear as sky to read. Her fright was almost amusing, making his blood stir again, but he stifled the urge. "Do you wish to wait here sitting idly?" he asked, staring at her challengingly.

His words made the fright disappear, and she returned his challenge, looking directly in his eyes. "No. I do _not_ wish to wait."

Despite of his best efforts, he found himself hardening at her words. For a second or so, they kept looking at each other, ignoring their audience. _No, wench, I swear you will not wait. _Forcefully he tore his eyes away from her. There was an odd expression over his cousin's feature, which he ignored, too.

For the last, Jaime returned to his aunt. "Lady Genna, please prepare the feast at once. A small ceremony would do."

The older woman pressed her lips into a thin line but did not answer. _"My Lady-?"_ Jaime pressed further, his voice thin, moving aside a bit. At moment, he wanted nothing more than go to his bedchamber and relieve himself. His cock now was fully awake.

"Fine—_fine_," Aunt Genna rose from her seat, "I will do as my lord nephew commands." She stood towering over Brienne's seat, her lips twisted in a grimace. "My lady—if you would be so kind to help me with your own wedding…"

Brienne did not move an inch. "Brienne." One single word from him, and closing her eyes, her lips flattened, she rose from her chair slowly and followed his aunt. His cock throbbed painfully. He closed his eyes, suddenly tired and annoyed, his cock hard in his breeches like a green boy. Lady Genna's pitiful dog for a husband trailed after them with a cold look of his own, but Jaime took no notice. He just wanted to be alone now. When they all disappeared behind the door, he slumped back in his chair and rested his head at the back of the chair with a long sigh. Not to cause a scene, he must needs wait his hardened manhood be limp again before he walked out, too. His eyes fell on Peck, who watched him from the corner. He wondered absently how a life as a lowborn would have been, having no allegiances, no fealty, no care for any House…

"Does my lord…wish anything?" his squire asked hesitantly.

A simple life, Jaime passed in his mind, but did not speak.

* * *

_A/N: Poor Jaime :) The next chapters will cover the wedding and other stuff before we'll move out away from Riverrun, finally. Please don't forget to review if you enjoy reading._


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven:

_Jaime_

The day after in the shy hour of evenfall when the winter's late sunlight seeped through the narrow crystal painted windows of Riverrun's Sept before the sun set down entirely in the west, Jaime walked along the grand columns toward the altar with his bride at his good arm, all eyes in the Grand Hall directed at them.

The wedding had turned to another kind of scandalous event when Brienne insisted that no one would need to escort her to Jaime as she had no kin here, and that she would walk to the altar together with Jaime. Septon Castor raised his voice to tell it was not proper, but Jaime shrugged. So long as she was there, Jaime could not care less of who carried her to the altar. Besides, what was a wedding if you couldn't throw a scandal over it?

_This would cause a great scandal for years for a certainty_, he reflected, his eyes wandered around the Great Hall, foreign and familiar faces all looking at them, eyes full scorn and bitterness. Riverrun was a mix of an eccentric residency now; without the outer walls Lannister forces were gathering, and behind the inner walls Lannisters, Freys, and Tullys were living all together. After he had sent Edmure Tully to Casterly Rock, Jaime had seen no reason that unarmed Tully wouldn't continue their lives as they were before. He wanted to end the war so everything could go back how it had been before… But now, Tullys looked at him with scornful looks, saying how a Lannister could wed inside their Sept, and Lannisters looked at him with enmity, saying how a Lannister could wed anywhere but the Rock, and the septon was looking like they were defiling his holy sept. His was not a simple life, nor would ever be, Jaime had accepted that, and oft-times he still wished it could have been.

But _at_ _least_ Brienne should be happy, she got what she had demanded but now walking with him to the altar, she looked more rigid than ever. Jaime could not be certain if it was because she was _finally_ about to lose her maidenhead in a few hours or it was just because she had endured too much Aunt Genna's all-too-good company since yesterday. Somehow it was hard to tell from the scowl she carried over her face. Jaime twisted his head slightly to her and hissed at her ear, "Now, sweet wife, try to smile a bit, you look like I'm forcing you to the altar with a knife behind."

She tensed further, giving him a withering look, but then a second later, she forced her lips into a smile. "You commanded it to be a small affair," she whispered at him with closed lips in a hiss, "but she did not listen."

He gave her a side glance with a flicker of a smile, "This is simple, for her standards."

Her full, swollen lips thinned further, "She almost didn't let me to pin my brochette."

His gaze moved over to the blue-silver sun and moon brochette at her chest over her sky blue cloak, "Do not mind her," he counseled, "she's just bitter because you didn't let her husband escort you to me."

She paused then cast a quick glance around, "I don't like the way they look at me."

She was having wedding jitters, Jaime then knew. Elsewise Brienne would not have ever admitted being worried what other people might think of her. She must be worried, yes, but would never admit. "You have nothing to worry," he assured her, "You look beautiful." That earned him though not the reaction he had expected for she sent him another cutting look.

But she really did, perhaps not in usual ways, she was still too tall and coarse for a woman but combined with her finely toned body and her fierce unbent nature, she became another sort of beauty; something….keen and deadly. _She's truly like a sword. _Under her clear sky blue cloak, her wedding dress was ivory soft velvet like a blade in the sun, trimmed crimson-gold over her bodice and the edges, and around her neck his ruby golden collar chain was wrapped, scarcely hiding the scar underneath. He caught a glimpse of it, looking sideways, and imagined kissing her there, running the tip of his tongue along her skin… He twitched in his breeches… and sent her a glare… _She is not supposed to look like this at her wedding. _It was brides that were supposed to be twitchy, fidgeting, not the grooms.

He neared in her to whisper, his breath itching over her skin, "But you really do, Brienne." For a heartbeat, she stopped before he dragged her along with him, her eyes widened. "I will show you how beautiful you are once we are alone."

The steel of a woman _twitched_ next him, a tremble passing over her, and it felt like victory. "But you do _not_ wish to wait, do you?" he asked in her ear with a small husky laugh.

"Don't," she whispered back in a collected tone.

He didn't like that tone. "Don't what?" he asked, almost innocent.

"This."

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asked, this time curious.

She stirred uncomfortably. He almost let out a laugh. So keen, so firm, yet she stirred beside him like a maid she was… _Good_. "Am I making you wet, Brienne?"

Her hand trembled in his hand, and she squeezed her hips so slightly but he caught it. "Tell me."

"Jaime, _please_."

"I do like when you call my name…" he whispered at her absently, "I'll make you scream it coming night… You called my name in your dreams. What I was doing?"

"Please, stop!" She was trembling now, and he knew she was wet, but he was still not satisfied. _No, not yet._

He cast a look around. "There's a great deal of way before we came at the altar, Brienne, and we walk so slow… there is still time to make you more… uncomfortable unless you say… tell me, are you wet?"

"Yes," then she said, "Yes, I am wet. Please, be silent now."

Smugly, he smiled. "Do you dream it? Us together? Me fucking you?"

Her spine tensed, and he wondered if he pressed too much. "No," she hissed back.

"What did you dream? What I was doing in your dream?"

She gave him a side glance, "You were leaving me in the bear pit," she whispered, "I called out for you but you didn't turn."

For a heartbeat, his steps faltered, suddenly his dirty game turning to something else, his heart seizing. He remembered how Lem taunted her… _The way she called for him feverishly… _ He swallowed through a lump in his throat, opened his mouth but she continued walking.

They had arrived at altar. He stopped, turning her aside to him, and started again to tell her he would never leave her, "I—"

Looking at his eyes, she cut him off with a whisper, "It was just a dream, Jaime."

How the rest of the ceremony went, he was not certain. He only remembered the way she said you were leaving me, and wondered if she really meant when she said it was just a dream. He would never leave her, she must know. Septon Castor's aide took off her blue cloak after the septon's speech that Jaime had not listened to, and Jaime taking the crimson cloak from his cousin Devan draped it across her shoulders, his hand almost trembling, his golden hand assisting him clumsily. She raised her eyes to his, and he could her heart beating where he stood, his own blood drumming in his ears… they were getting married. He was taking Brienne the Beauty, the Maid of Tarth as his lady wife. They bound a long white ribbon of linen around their wrists, as he intoned, "With this kiss, I pledge my love," His voice was strange to his own ears, like it was belonging to someone else, "and take you for my lady and wife from this day, until the end of my days."

Brienne was looking at him, deeply in the eyes, as she repeated, "With this kiss, I pledge my love," the swollen lips moved so scarcely, and his gaze caught the scar under her golden chain—and he wanted naught but kiss her, to tell her she would always have him now, "and take you for my lord and husband from this day, until the end of my days."

Their eyes captured, they looked at each other, and Jaime knew she felt the same bewilderment he did; they were married. So he reached out, pulled her against him, and sealed their vows, with a kiss.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve:

_Brienne_

As the sun broke over through the narrow high windows at Jaime's bedchamber, Brienne fluttered her eyes open, looking around the room, listening to Jaime's soft breaths as he lay beside her a scant feet away. She did not sleep, only closed her eyes for a while after Jaime finally was done, rolling into a tired yet satisfied slumber, but even though pain grew weaker, the ache between her legs did not let her follow him. She was no longer a maiden, that throbbing ache was a reminder of that. She felt a tremble run over herself. The chamber had grown colder. The fire in the hearth was gone out some time in the night, but they both had not given a care, she was too hot and bothered to care for any fire. _I was burning…_ Now, the fire quenched, she wondered at herself, how she could be that woman, that shuddering, trembling, begging, crying weep of a bundle of moans, sobs and screams… more than anything screams… Gods be merciful, he was good to his word. He did make her scream his name. And father judge him just, he did warn her.

The ache throbbing inside her, she stirred on her side, closed her eyes, and thought about how it started, with a kiss.

Once in her childhood, her nanny had told her a kiss would kill a maiden if it was meant truly, and upon the time Jaime kissed her at the altar, Brienne did not understand what the older woman truly meant. She had always thought of the cruelty of her suitors whenever she thought of the words, and believed her nanny was being trying to warn her of the cruelty of the men.

Jaime's kiss was not cruel, it was something entirely else, like how he'd kissed her when they were alone the first time in his solar, only it was amplified in ten folds, burning her to the core, and her core was tugging—and he was right, she was so wet, almost dripping, she could not even understand–she knew, she heard the basics of coupling—but-but…this… She forsook all the reason in the world, wrapped her arms around his neck tightly and let him burn her. If she died today, she would die happy.

Her surrender made Jaime—no her lord husband—wilder, he linked his arms around her hips, she could his golden cold metallic fingers even underneath velvet and hoisted her up against him. She tipped her head downwards not to break their lips as he reached out towards her. The tug between her thighs was throbbing with an ache, missing something—and she knew what was missing too. She was not born yesterday.

It was all folly, but she could scarcely care. The roars of cheers and whistles of the men were distant sirens in her ear as the septon's cries in exclamation. There was no mocking in the cheers, no jests, but only joy and good humor, and for the first time in her life she truly felt beautiful, wanted, desired… She would really die now. Jaime finally broke their kiss, letting her down again. Her feet touched the marble tiles, she found oddly fitting, between his arms she was soaring. He was looking at her, his eyes dark—darkest green— his gaze sent another shiver through her spine. "We shall go—" he whispered against her cheek. "Else I—"

He pressed himself on her, just right there, and she felt his hardness right between her thighs. Instinctively, she rested herself at him, and nodded absently. He inhaled a sharp breath though his nose, his eyes almost closed. Opening them, he grabbed her. "We're going."

The septon cried after them. "My lord—my lord—we're not done yet. Prayers-"

"—are not of my concern," Jaime cut in, as they stepped down the aisle. "We're wed. Now, _we_ start with the rest of the ceremony."

At the last step, his cousin Lord Devan gave out an amused laugh. She ran her eyes away. "What, you won't wait for the feast?" the younger man shouted at Jaime, "Aunt Genna put a lot of work in it, so I'm told."

"I am not hungry, coz," Jaime grated at other man, "at least not for food, anyway."

Lord Devan laughed loudly at that, and put an arm around the septon which stopped the older man. "Now, septon, leave the man be. Our lord has been so noble lately, have mercy on him."

Brienne vaguely understood what the words meant, but she understood the urgency with which Jaime was pulling her along down the hall, not giving an inch of his attention to the jests and shouts around them. Once they were outside the grand hall, he pushed her into the first alcove, straddling her on the sills of a high narrowed window with shutters closed and started kissing her again. His hand started roaming over her bodice, his left fingers clumsily fidgeting with the silk ivory ribbons as the lower side of his body pushed her legs further apart. She felt his hardness over her again. "Jaime—" she gasped out as he untied the first knot. "Jaime—we—"

He raised his head and those dark emerald eyes found hers. "I—I—shit—" he cursed, taking back a small step, "If I try to kiss you again before we come to my bedchamber, kick me."

Her cheeks flushing, she smiled a little. His gaze darkened again, he pulled her back from the window. "Hurry, before I changed my mind."

She did not make him repeat. They hadn't talked again as they walked towards to his apartments at the other side of the castle's highest tower. Brienne paced hurriedly beside him in silence, oozing with anticipation. She knew what was going to happen when they reached his bedchamber, but as his kiss proved, knowing and living it were entirely two different things. It was so strange to have a man desire her like this, she would scarcely believe it, but the proof was there, impossible to miss. _He desires me. He wants me._

When they reached to his bedchamber, he stopped suddenly, and turned to her, his darkest green eyes underneath of passion turned to stern, "I would never leave you, Brienne," he told her in seriousness. For a second, she could not understand what he was talking about for her thoughts were clouded of the feelings he made her feel… wanted, desired… beautiful. _He desires me… _"I know," she said nodding, "You always come back for me."

He shut his eyes for a second. "You should not tell me things like this, Brienne."

So, with the smallest smile she dared something she had never done all in her life before. _He wants me…_ Her heart beating madly, she tipped her head forward, and hesitantly, slowly she touched her lips to his. It was a small peck on the lips, she was too frightened to do anything else but all of a sudden, it broke his last resolve.

With a growl, he grabbed her under her hips, opening the door with his back, and stepped back into the room. She let out a gasp as her back hit the closed door. A second later, she was cornered against the small dining table beside the door. She rested her hips along the edge as he settled himself between her legs, his hand feverishly working on the ribbons of her dress. "Undo my breeches", he ordered her.

With trembling fingers, she obeyed. Her hands flew and she started untying him as he fought with her gown's skirt, gathering it up toward her hips. His hand disappeared between her thighs, and she let out a gasp of shock when she felt his fingers brushing her womanhood over her smallclothes. "So wet…" he muttered against her neck.

His words burned her, her back falling backwards with a moan… and she knew she should be ashamed… but she was burning, so wet but still burning, and aching… She wanted to say something, it felt so strange yet no words came to her. "Jaime—" she whispered out, almost asking though she did not know of what.

His fingers suddenly stopped at her calling, and he shook his head, "No—" he grounded out, lifting his eyes to hers, "No. Not like this. 'Tis not the way."

He must have been right; she was over a table, her wedding was still on herself… but she felt like she was coiling inside into one spot, that deep throbbing just in her core, like a pulse—there had to be something—some release—they—they talked about coupling—men took women, manhood entered maidenhead, but they never told it was going to be like this—she felt herself at the edge of something—she felt so strained… "Jaime—" she almost sobbed. He must have known what he ought to do. "Please."

"It's not the way," he repeated, his voice a hoarse whisper against her skin.

…and she found herself she did not care. "I don't care." Her head whirling, her blood ringing, her core burning, she raised her back, pressing herself against him…against his hardness, and kissed him again on the lips. With his eyes shutting close, he hissed out of his nose. "I don't care. Please," she repeated.

His eyes cracked open, and he pushed her entirely over the table. "I'll be damned," he growled out before he pulled her closer, yanking aside her smallclothes... "Remember," he grounded at her, holding her hip in a tight grip with one hand as she stilled feeling _it_ against her bare skin, "You. asked. for. this."

She nodded, almost absently, not caring. _I don't care._ _I don't care_… then he pushed forward, toward her—in her—and she threw her head back—her back arching—a scream on her lips—but he stopped—suddenly, and she felt the tightness and thought it was what she had been asking. She felt full—tight, taut like a stringed bow but whole—then he pulled an inch back, a hairbreadth away, and his eyes found hers again. There—she felt it, the scare—then she understood as he pulled out another inch and slammed back further inside—ripping her apart.

Then she screamed… _Jaime!_

Her eyes cracked open wide, imagining the sheer pain again as he ripped through her maidenhead, her body constructed, remembering the moment. She forced herself to relax, casting away the memory. She was no stranger to pain, she had endured worse, much worse but that was something else. Together with pain, there was also pleasure, like she was torn in two, one part begging for more, the other begging for it to end. At the end, pleasure ran higher, turning her to a weeping bundle of moans and groans, screaming for something she had not even known what…then he gave it to her, she felt it running from head to toe, spreading over her body like wildfire, and when it finally exploded in her, she really thought she died. Her breath hitching, something inside her throbbed again—not with pain—but the other thing she had grown now familiar, and she felt herself getting wet again. She almost let out a sob. This—this was so confusing. Even when she was aching with the remnants of those sheering pain, she still wanted Jaime inside her, rocking her—back and forth—riding her to a folly until all sense in the world took leave off her. Now she understood why people were frighteningly spoken of lust, it was scary. The scariest thing she had ever felt in her life. It would shame her, all those noises she had made, her own desperate need, clawing at her, in the dark she did not care, but now as the sunlight crept through the narrow windows over their nakedness, she could hardly believe that was her.

Perhaps that was why Ser Hyle said all women were beautiful in the dark. Jaime had said she looked beautiful, and almost made her believe it too. _Even if it wasn't,_ _I felt so wanted, so desired, so beautiful…he could not lie to me, he never lies to me, always tells me true…_ She knew she looked more ladylike now but she still found it hard to believe that people would find her beautiful. Her face was still broad and plain with freckled skin, and her features were curt with hallow angles, her hideous scar running half of her cheek, carefully hidden behind her trimmed hair but still there for prying eyes. Her mouth was wide, her lips full and swollen, nothing like cherry blossom lips of the ladies, and her horse teeth making it impossible to smile fully like a proper sweet lady. Her body once thick and big now was simply lanky and gaunt without curves, not as voluptuous and soft as Cersei Lannister, but toned with ungainly muscles, flat-chested. She did not feel beautiful.

With a start, she felt Jaime's fingertips running along her side, and she got tense, wondering if he would know what she was thinking. She blushed, as he said with a tired but amused voice, his eyes still closed, "I can almost hear you thinking, you think so loudly." He opened his eyes, and rolled on his side to look at her.

When they eyes met, she saw seriousness in his green's depths. "Are you well, my lady?" he asked. She nodded. "How did you find it?"

She paused to give him a true answer, regarding his question, then finally said, "It was not like how I expected."

For that, he smiled, but it wasn't a wry, mocking smile. It was warm and gentle, as if he truly meant it. _A smile could kill too if it's meant truly_, she reflected. "Aye… The blame is on me for that. I should not let things go that far. But—" he said tiredly, letting out a small sigh, and his hand reached out her unscarred cheek, "But I did warn you, Brienne."

She nodded again, his touch making her shiver. "I—I didn't understand." _I didn't care._

He nodded back, pulling his hand away. Brienne was glad for she did not know how she could behave if he did not. She still felt torn inside and she was confused like she had never been before in her life. Jaime rolled over his back, staring at the ceiling, his stump next her hand. She pulled her fur closer over her nakedness, looking at the mess they had done together, her wedding dress, stained with her maidenhead blood. "We—we ought to go. They would wait us in the main hall. The first scouts must have returned."

He nodded, but didn't move an inch, instead stay there sprawled on the bed, his eyes shut close. "Jaime-?" she asked tentatively.

"We could stay here—" he then said. Brienne's head snapped at him, "We could be just a man and a woman. A husband. A wife. Laughing, bickering, fucking." His eyes opened, he turned his head aside to find hers. "Wouldn't it be nice? Simple?"

The question took her unawares. A life full of with Jaime—no war, no monsters, no broken oaths… "Yes," she admitted. She would like to live with him like that, would it be possible. But it wasn't, and they were not that people, either. She did not know anymore what they were, she could hardly even recognize herself now but she knew that wasn't them. Perhaps there was a time when simple would be possible for them, too, when words did not hurt, when people did not betray, when emotions did not confuse, when they did not have to live with insides that were more shattered than a broken sword. Another time, another life. It was something they could only yearn now, like a summer that would never end. "Would that we could," she finally whispered, suddenly tears in her eyes. _If only we could…_

Jaime smiled tiredly, and he seemed old, so older than he truly was, and it pained her. "Would that we could," he agreed, and leaped down from the bed. He stood up naked before her, and took his linen shirt from the floor. "Now instead I need to explain why I broke yet another tradition last night," he said pushing his arm and stump through his shirt.

She shook her head. "We did not. I was—I was still a maiden."

"The sheep will not care about your maidenhead lest they see the blood stained sheet, Brienne," he said, explaining like to a child, and shook his hand over her wedding dress. "For obvious reasons, we do not have one."

She looked at the ruined dress then lifted her eyes at him. "How would they know it's my blood even though they saw the stain?"

Jaime smirked at her knowingly, and gave out half a chuckle. "One night spent with a Lannister," he said, "and you, my lady of Tarth, have already turned to one."

Brienne scowled, for she could not decide if it was a good thing or bad anymore.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen:

_Jaime_

The fields of Red Fork and Tumblestone were covered with crimson tents once again, stretching ahead as far as eyes could see. The day was grey and bitter, and earth under the dirtied snow was already torched black. In warmer, better days, the fertile lands would have filled with wheat, rye, and corn but his lord father's dogs had seen those days to an end. If the host had not been there, they would have tried to sow for the last time before the heart of the winter arrived, but those chances were lost now. The cold grey air was foul with horse dung and heavy odor of latrines, and thick with smells of cookfires, somber oatmeal as the camp prepared to break their fasts. They would have added salted fish to the mild meal, but Jaime had ordered all meat to be stored for the road. _How will we feed these people?_ he reflected darkly as he rode through the camp then answered his unspoken inquiry solemnly; Tyrells. The thought irked him a great deal. They were already depending on the generosity of the roses too much, but he did not see any other option, either. _Damn you, Stannis._ He still did not know for a certainty that it was Stannis who had brought Golden Company back to Westeros again, but the only remaining Baratheon was the best bet.

The line of supplies whirled around the camp outside the great sandstone castle like a great serpentine, wooden and metal carts and crates loaded on the wagons, ready for departure. They had laid the wooden planks over the ground to make the march easier as the soil beside the rivers had turned to a bog, a frail frozen crust over it, but beneath it was a messy slough, a nightmare for the wheels. The last count was eight hundred, five of five were for grains, meat, water and other groceries, and the last three were for bows, arrows, swords, lances, spikes, and shields. Each night the numbers lessened a bit down, as deserters fled with whatever rations and arms they could take with them. They stationed sentries at every one hundred feet across the line, but it was never enough. Every night some broken men deserted, and the gallon at the shadow of the sandstone castle was never left unoccupied. _Twenty men, I have already hung twenty broken men._

"Three thousands men arrived from westerlands," his cousin Ser Devan debriefed him, the shoes of their horses clanking on the wood in a dull rhythm as his men-at-arms solemnly bowed their heads at their commander and now their liege lord as Jaime passed them, whilst eating the oatmeal in silence in front of their tents, "armored lances and spikes, and foot soldiers."

"Knights?" Jaime inquired.

Knights, they needed more knights. With the two thousand men of Lannister and Frey from the last siege at Riverrun, they made a host of five thousand men, but his men were already battle weary. Lannisters had been at war for two full years and constant warring had taken its heavy toll. Knights with shining armors would lift up the spirits. He wished again for the Knights of Vale. "The last of our forces already passed Golden Tooth and entered to Riverlands," his cousin continued, "They would arrive before the full moon."

Jaime nodded, a cold wind passing his hair, cracking at his face. The cold in the air was cruel, but along with the hurling wind, it created a chill enough to freeze to death. They had found two guardsmen at the trenches outside the camp dead at yesternight, another reason of the somber tensed air in the camp. "Riverlords?" Jaime questioned further, wondering how many men more would try to escape from cold and hunger to-night.

"Ser Addam raised one thousand, they're on the route for Harrenhal to meet with us on the road," Ser Devan answered. Jaime had ordered his childhood friend return from his search for the Blackfish. He suspected BryndenTully might have escaped back to his former sworn House, but as of the moment he left the man for Littlefinger. He had enough on his plate as it was without having to worry about the old stubborn trout.

"Send outriders with Ser Coster," Jaime ordered as he wheeled his horse around, and started to the ferry that would lead them back to the keep behind the outer walls. "I want the road screened."

He could not take any chances with Golden Company nor could he let another Whispering Woods happen. After the War of Ninepenny Kings, onetime great Blackfyre host had turned to a mere sellswords army, but ten thousand men were still ten thousand men. Luckily for them Golden Company only had five hundred knights, and no one had heard any talks of elephants yet. The reports had been also mixed around the numbers how many ships had arrived at Stormlands but he hoped at with the Tyrells' remaining forces at King's Landing, their numbers would be enough to crush Golden Company's ten thousand. His knights had already outnumbered them two to one, and Jaime was determined to make it a three to one before they attacked. He was pressing too hard on his forces, but the sellswords must be dealt with haste before they joined up with Stannis. The Throne could not be flanked between two forces, waiting to be hammered. He had even accepted to wed at Riverrun in order to evade that. _And for Brienne,_ he added in his mind, _and I did it for Brienne._

The married life was not as bad as Jaime had always feared, in fact it was…surprising. Given how passionate Brienne was with protecting people she cared, it would have not really surprised him that kind of passion extracted off her when the walls she had built around herself crumbled down, and crumble down they did, revealing another part of her he found exhilarating. He'd taken her against the wall yesternight, pounding in her hard as she held on him tightly as if her life depending on it, her fingers dug into his skin, begging for more… though not with words.

The only words she uttered were either Jaime or please, she begged with her body, with her eyes, with her moans and screams. Cersei had always been a talker while he fucked her, constantly urging him, but that was not Brienne. Jaime did not care. He liked the language that bodies spoke more than the language that tongues spoke; tongues would lie but bodies would never.

His cock suddenly hard, he dismounted Honor at the river bank, trying to repress the urge to find and fuck her in some inappropriate place, making her beg him for more. That would have been a simple life, he imagined, a man simply wanting to fuck his wife. _Would that we could._

There was a yearning in her voice when she answered him, like it was a wish that could have never come true, yet she still yearned for it. He thought what he would have done if he'd ever heard even half of the same yearning in Cersei's voice when he begged her to wed him. But there was no yearning in Cersei's voice, never had been, but only anger and fright if he could do something stupid. It should not hurt him, he should not _let_ it hurt him, but still it had, and he was so tired of it now, tired of that bitterness. It was how it was with Aerys too, he knew he should not bother when people called him Kingslayer, he should not let it bother him… _Words can only hurt if you let them._

As he directed his black destrier on the wooden logs to cross the river, he wondered if Brienne was still thinking of Renly—the way he thought of Cersei. The notion soured his mood further, stirring anger in his chest, his fist tingling… Was she feeling the same bitterness he felt when she thought of Renly? He had tarnished Renly in her eyes when he cruelly told Brienne about the false king's intentions, but she still must think of him, of better times, the way the cock sucker had danced with her once…he had heard. In his mind he could almost see a younger Brienne, looking wistfully at Renly whilst spinning in his arms with those blue eyes widened with admiration and adoration as Renly Baratheon played the role of the gentle knight he so loved… He wanted to hit something. This… _this_ was far worse than knowing Cersei sharing her bed with another man because he knew she hated Robert and only had to welcome him into her bed because she had to, or so he had thought. For Brienne, Renly Baratheon was completely different. Brienne had _loved_ the man without expectations, just for the sake of love, a childish notion but pure at heart. How could _he_ compete with that? He could compete with the man, a man was only flesh and bones but he could not compete with ghosts. _No one can compete with memories, memories of youth and innocence. _

And the memories Jaime had given her were only horrors and monsters, betrayals and forsaken oaths. He had even taken her maidenhead over a bloody table like she was some tavern wench whilst her wedding dress was still on. It disgusted him now, like he had defiled her, but… _you asked for it, wench, you asked for it. _He was done at the moment she had stolen a kiss from him and her confession_… I did warn you, Brienne. But you still didn't listen, and I'm the one who has shit for honor again._

His jaw set with a scowl, they passed beneath the Wheel Tower and advanced towards Water Gate. As they went under the half raised rusted portcullis, Jaime's eyes turned to outer bailey. Despite Aunt Genna very outspoken dismay, Brienne had taken practicing swordplay again with Ser Hyle, she usually passed her mornings practicing with the knight, bettering her skills once again. Jamie he did not like it, but still gave his consent. War was coming, and a fine blade needed careful honing.

They neared one of the iron rings attached on the jutted ports of outer walls, where the water was at the same level with the paved stoned road so that their mounts climbed up easily. He turned around to the east, but the outer bailey was empty. He rode towards to the three-sided keep.

Inside the yard, he saw Aunt Genna instead, watching him with hawk-eyes in the gallery behind a tall sandstone pillar. Jaime bowed his head in a slight nod, but did not offer any other greetings. The older woman had been consistently drilling him about Brienne, about how wild she was, how unladylike, swinging that longsword in the air before all eyes. She always left his side perplexed, seeing how unaffected at her words Jaime was, but only amused. "Oh, you found this charming, don't you! Look at you, my lord," she exclaimed once, looking at him accusingly. When Jaime shrugged, not denying, she demanded that Brienne must stay with her at Riverrun, that she had no place in a marching host. He could point out she had _herself_ came to Riverrun with a marching host, but the amused look gone off his face, Jaime only answered with a cold "My lady wife's place is at my side." He would never leave her behind, he had promised. Leaving her at Riverrun would only cause problems as well, for she was too worthy now. If anyone took her hostage or tried to use her as leverage… His blood tingling, he sensed the same fear how ofttimes felt for Cersei's safety, that constant anxiety if someone would try to take her away from him. At the end, no one took her away from him, it was Cersei's own doing but the fear nevertheless was the same. The only person he could trust with Brienne's safety was his cousin Devan, but Jaime could not spare him and a column from the host to take her to Casterly Rock. _If I could even trust Casterly Rock, that is._

Besides, he did _not_ assume Brienne would go back to Casterly Rock. Her father captured, Brienne would not meekly accept return to the Rock. He'd barely managed to convince her not to go alone. _Aunt Genna is right. She's wild… a wild lioness…_

"My lord," Maester Vyman greeted them at the stairs, "Guests have arrived after you went to inspect the camp," the old maester cooed, "My lord would want to see this."

Jaime cocked an eyebrow. "Ronnet Connington," the maester clarified, taking a step in, "He and his company arrived with Lord Merlon Crakehall."

For a moment or so, Jaime could not register what he had heard. Ronnet Connington was here. _Brienne the Beauty… less hairy than that freak… _Recalling the words, his brows pulled into a scowl. The last Jaime had seen the red men he had hit him for insulting Brienne then had sent him and the dogs to put Lord Wylis on a ship for White Harbor. "They—they attacked some villagers in Maidenpool before they arrived White Harbor," the maester answered as if he had heard his unspoken question, "Then they were sent to King's Landing. Lord Kevan sentenced them to the Wall. Their party has stopped for the night. Lord Merlon wishes to see you. He says he has news for you."

Curtly, Jamie nodded, dismounting. "Take him to the Great Hall." He handed Honor's reins to Hoster Blackwood who appeared beside the oak-and-bronze doors of the great keep to greet him. From the walls the banner of Freys and Lannisters were hung, and at the top of the castle above them the crown antlered lion of Tommen on the crimson field was raised.

The youngest son of Lord Crakehall arrived with two men with golden cloaks. The men of city watch. They were largely built, battled hardened, with grim faces and a glint of danger in their eyes, and Jaime knew they were the kind of the guardsmen one would need if one dealt with likes of Mountain's men. Merlon, a mere of seventeen was a prideful young knight, eager to prove his worth. Jaime could also see why his lord uncle had chosen the lordling as their leader.

"My lord," Merlon bowed deeply, "We thank you for your hospitality."

Where he sat on the raised aisle in the hall, Jaime gave the young man an absent nod. "Where is Ronnet Connington?" he asked.

"We put him into a room at the upper floors," Merlon answered, "He gave his word, and we gave him our word back. He will not be put in chains so long as he behaves."

Jaime did not like it one bit, he would prefer the man in a tower cell, but he kept his mouth shut. "And others?"

The lordling fidgeted slightly. "They did not behave. We put them into dungeons."

In silence, Jaime nodded. It was no surprise that Mountain's men followed any order than the man himself. "Maester Vyman said you have news for me."

Merlon pulled a rolled paper out of his cloak, and taking a step on the aisle handed it to him. "Lord Kevan—His Grace confided it to me to give it to you. We thought at first to take a ship to White Harbor but His Grace commanded us to take the Kingsroad and see you at Riverrun." Jaime looked at paper. The wax, a roaring golden lion, was unbroken, and he recognized his uncle handwriting when he unrolled it. "Is—is it true that he's dead?" Merlon asked hesitantly.

Jaime raised his eyes to the lordling. "We—we heard it on the road," Merlon explained, "It's said he was killed—by the queen, by Tyrells, by—you…" He paused for a second, "The talks say you raise a host to march to King's Landing, my lord."

By _him?_ Where all these talks came from, he wondered once again. "Rumors…" Jaime flatly said, and turned to Devan, "Cousin, escort Lord Merlon and his company to their quarters, please."

As he read the letter they left the hall, first a faint frown appeared above his brows, then it turned into a full scowl, his jaw setting, his expression turning grimmer. _This cannot be… _"He's dead—" he whispered out at himself, "He's dead…" He called out Hoster. "Call Lady Brienne," Jaime ordered his hostage ward, leaving the hall too from the back door behind the seat of the lord. "I wish to see her in the solar."

He was still reading the letter when Brienne came. He sent Hoster away, and watched as Brienne stepped inside. She was in dark leggings with a crimson jerkin, Oathkeeper hanging over the leather belt over her waist. There was a wariness in her steps, as if she was walking into a trap. Jaime reflected if _she_ knew he knew about her and Ronnet Connington. "Guests arrived from King's Landing."

She nodded briskly as she sat at the other side of him at the table beside the jutted out stone balcony. "I heard."

"Ronnet Conninghton is with them," he continued, looking at her.

"I heard," she repeated again.

"I'd sent him to escort Lord Wylis back to White Harbor when I took Riverrun, but on the road they caused trouble at Maidenpool, and they were sent to King's Landing. My uncle, before he died, sentenced them to the Wall," he summarized for her.

Wordlessly, Brienne nodded. He let out a sigh. "Are not you going to tell anything?"

She looked at him startled. "What do you want me to say?"

"He's your former betrothed."

She blinked once, but managed to keep her face neutral. "Long past. Our fathers wanted to wed us, but he declined." She paused, but bowed her head, and asked with a small voice, "How did you know?"

"He told me—" Her head snapped up at her, "Before," he elaborated, "We met at Harrenhal when I returned to Riverrun."

She nodded. For a moment or so, he thought of retelling her of what had happened at the bear pit, but then he forsook the idea. "Ronnet Conninghton does not matter to me, Jaime."

From the look of her face, he was not certain of it, but some things were better if they were left unsaid. He pushed the letter over her at the table. "My uncle sent it to me with Lord Merlon. That's why they took the road, not a ship to the North."

Brienne took the paper, and read it. "But—but it cannot be," she repeated his words, shaking her head. "Prince Aegon… he died as a baby, killed by—" she stopped.

"Killed by at Father's orders, yes," Jaime completed it for her.

"Do you think he's feigned as your Uncle claimed?"

He thought a second before he answered. It would not be a first time Golden Company tried to claim the throne using falsehood, they had tried that _four_ times, and even Tommen himself was a usurper if it was looked at that way, but Jaime knew the bitter truth. _Blood would put you on Iron Throne, but it would not keep you there. _

"Whoever he might be," Jaime said, "he managed to get a sellswords army at our backyard. I am not sure if he would listen to me saying who he cannot be."

Brienne nodded. "We need to march, Jaime, we cannot wait any longer."

Jaime nodded back. Targaryen's three headed dragon was sighted in Stormlands the first time in years. This… this was even worse than Stannis. He understood now better why small council had asked for him. He turned to Brienne. "Take your supper in your apartments tonight," he ordered her. Ronnet Connington was _not_ going to be invited at his table, but Jaime wanted to play at the safe side.

Nodding, Brienne stood up and started for the door. He almost stopped her but he found himself wishing to be alone at the moment. He recalled the mad king, he recalled Rhaegar. He recalled how he had been in Brienne's age, ready to challenge the world before he became a hostage in pretty armor... Not the first time Jaime wondered how his life could have been if Rhaegar had not lost at Trident. The Prince had almost promised him the changes were going to be made. He was planning to unseat his father, Jaime knew. He was an honorable man, the last dragon, they called him. _You swore to protect him…_

His door cracked open with a loud crack… His squire agitated face appeared, "My lord!" the young Brackwood bellowed out, face red and horrified, "My lord!"

Jaime sprang to his feet, "What is it?" he asked, walking hurriedly behind his desk.

"It _is_ Lady Brienne—" the younger man answered, still looking horrified, "She's—she's fighting with Ronnet Connington!"

For a few seconds, he stopped, his mind completely blank then he started running.

"Where are they?" Jaime asked, taking another turn the first level of the castle.

"At the practice yard, my lord. She—she was practicing with Ser Hyle when Lord Merlon came to the inner bailey with him. A few quick words had passed between them then she ordered to give the man a sword."

She was not supposed to do that, the man was supposed to be taken to the Wall, unhurt, but apparently no one dared to disobey his lady. When Jaime found them at the practice yard, Brienne was in a fury like he had never seen her before. His pace dropped to a trot as he approached, passing through the encircled assemble of curious yet scandalized onlookers, murmurs slowing as more people caught him at each step until all fell in an utter silence, aside the clamor of the ongoing battle. They did not take the notice of him, or did not care, and he merely stood at the edge of the yard, watching them.

In her hand, Oathkeeper was glinting in the sun darkly as Brienne was raining blows after blows at him, her patient defense strategy forgotten as she charged pressing in on him with a mad glint in her eyes. Ronnet Connington looked only amused with a wry smile on his face, parrying her every thrust. Right at the moment, with a chill in his bones, he realized whatever this was it was worse than he had imagined. _Ronnet Connington does not matter to me, _he recalled bitterly. Jaime could see how much the man did not matter. He had seen Brienne engage into battles, even when they had fought the first time, him in chains and tatters, the very kind of wry smile over his lips as he tried to gauge her prowess. But she was _not_ like this even then. She was cool and wary, keenly calculating, each move designed for the eventual victory. This… this was simply a fury… folly…

And he had best end it… "Enough!" he said, then roared his voice into a thunder, "I SAID ENOUGH!"

Both lowered their swords at the same time, and finally acknowledged him; Brienne with a wild but hard look and Connington his wry smile growing wider. Jaime's eyes were only at Brienne. She was breathing hard, her face reddened, glowering, and that moment she looked nothing like the woman he came to think of his lady wife but a mix of the big, ugly, stubborn wench with a liking to glower at him hard. The only missing thing was Kingslayer from her lips. For a moment or so, Jaime looked at those unfamiliar wild eyes then as if a mist unveiling, the wildness slowly waned, and he saw the same wide blue eyes. Wordlessly, she sheathed Oathkeeper and started walking away. Jaime did not stop her.

Instead he turned his eyes on Ronnet Connington. He slowly strode to the man. His cousin Devan came out of the crowd, and called at him with a concerned voice, "My lord?"

He didn't answer. "You raised your hand at her," he stated placidly before the man. "You _stroke_ at my lady wife."

"I suppose I did," Ronnet Connington shrugged, "What are you going to, Lord Golden Hand? Send me to the Wall?" He laughed as if it was a joke. "I cannot believe you wed that freak—"

In one swift motion, he pulled out his dagger and cut the man's throat. He leapt aside, as blood sputtered out of him, but not quick enough. A jet of red splashed on him. He cleaned his dagger on his crimson coat, and sheathed his dagger back. "Send word to King's Landing that Lord Jaime Lannister has taken this man's life in the name of King's justice," he said, "for the crime of raising a hand at Lady Brienne of Casterly Rock."

He turned and stalked back to the castle to find Brienne. It appeared they still needed to talk.

She was in her own bedchambers, serenely watching outside from her narrow window when he walked into her chambers after he cleaned his face. Her back still on him, she didn't acknowledge his arrival, but placidly asked, "What did you do to him?"

He answered with the same voice, "I sentenced him to die. He won't see the Wall."

She gave a small nod, but didn't say anything else. He strolled to her and stood next to her at the window. The sun almost disappeared by under heavy clouds, the world outside was turning to a ghostly grey, as if there was no color left in the world. Winter was always a time of bleakness and gloom, and he felt it deep in his bones. "Do you…want to talk about it?" he finally asked.

As in answer, Brienne shook her head, no word leaving her lips.

And Jaime stood there, trying to find suitable words and failing. So he just stood there, and watched the Tumblestone and Red Fork rush over at each other beneath the sandstone walls, the echoes and the waves faintly reaching out to them. He recalled how it felt the company of her body after they had hacked off his hand, not uttering a word tied face to face, his rotting his hand between them. There were no words between them that time, too, but the warmness was still there.

On a sudden urge, he almost turned to her to take her in his arms, to tell what his tongue could not…that he was there for her, he would always be there for her… but she broke the silence, "Is it true you hit him when he called me freak?" she asked, her eyes still firmly at the window, and for a moment or so he wished that the bloody man was still alive so he could kill him again.

He gave her a slight nod. "You're a highborn lady," he said, his voice suspiciously rough, "He should have shown you respect."

Her eyes found his. "You told me not to call myself a freak. You said you don't like hearing it."

"Aye, I do not like hearing it," he confirmed, but didn't speak further. He did not know what else to say. He did not like hearing it. He could make japes at her expense, call her wench, call her stupid, call her ugly but it was…_him_… When it was someone else the notion just... angered him.

He was getting angry again too, to himself, to the bloody man… and to her because she let him get under her skin. "You said Ronnet Conninghton does not matter to you, Brienne," he remarked, his tone curt in accusation. She did not answer. He softened his tone, "Does it really matter what he calls you?"

"I don't know…" she asked back, "Does it really matter when they call you _Kingslayer_?"

_It does not… The words of the sheep do not matter to a lion… _"It's just words," he answered, "They cannot hurt you."

She laughed, a bitter cutting sound, and shook her head. "I believe this is the first time you ever lied to me, Jaime. You know as much as I do how words can hurt."

"If only you let them—"He paused, "You're a lion now, too, Brienne," he said, "The words of sheep do not matter to us."

She looked at him deeply in the eyes, and for a moment he thought she was going to call him again on his horseshit. But she just shook her head again, as if she already knew it, as if they _both_ already knew it. "You told me I was beautiful at our wedding," she said instead, and asked, "Did you mean it?"

"You know I always tell you true," he answered, "You're—another sort of beauty… you have a different allure."

A frown appeared over her brows. "What does _that_ mean?"

"That _means,_ Brienne, every time I see you I can hardly stop myself from ravishing you."

Her eyes never left his. "But you were not thinking of me like that before, weren't you? You were calling me ugly. _He_ told mehe would not mind tasting me now for I am not as ugly as before…" Whilst his jaw clenched, she looked at him as if she was trying to find an answer, almost curious, "Would have you still wanted to wed me, Jaime, if I didn't almost die in my sickness and turn into…another sort of beauty?"

Though curious, her words still cut something inside him. Once again he found himself not knowing how to answer her. Her warmness was a soft lullaby when he was burning with fever, her wide blue eyes drew him like a moth to flame, her naked body even stirred him in the baths… but... he also desired Pia when she was nothing but a pitiful rag of broken teeth with swaying hips. "A man can choose to do or not to do what he wills," he finally intoned, "but cannot will what he wills."

At his answer, her eyebrows wrinkled further, "Is that a yes or no?"

He shook his head. "That's, Brienne, a '_I don't know'_"

* * *

_A/N: Admittedly, this chapter is one of the reasons why I wanted to write this story, Jamie's thoughts of married life and his jealousy of Renly, Brienne's her own experience with lust, and of course the news of Prince Aegon, and the arrival of Ronnet Connighton. In the books, I think it tells so much about Jaime, how he slapped the man when the idiot called Brienne freak, basically made me think there are really stuff happening there. Brienne's feelings was sad, too but I'm sure whether you're a boy or a girl, in one time in your life you felt exactly like her, having doubts that your loved one would have still loved you if things were different. I really want to keep things between these two as realistic as possible; this is no "Jaime suddenly realizes he's in love with Brienne" story. There are Issues between them, with the capital, and they need to work them out, if they can._

"_A man can choose to do or not to do what he wills, but cannot will what he wills," is a quote by Arthur Schopenhauer._


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen:

_Brienne_

As she trotted in a steady pace on the road, Brienne realized how much she had missed being on horse. There was stiffness in her inner thighs, her calves in dark leather leggings stiff against her palfrey's furred skin, the wind blowing through her hair, free. The column stretched out on the river road like a serpentine crimson line, four riders abreast, hooves of their horses thundering on the paved stones, caked with dirt, mud, moss and snow. The air was cold and biting, wind cracking at her face mercilessly, sun hidden beneath heavy clouds. Still, even under winter's bleak harshness Brienne felt better in open air than she felt in the castle's overwhelming structure. She had born and grown in a castle but Tarth was an open island, and she always liked the freedom of wilderness more than prying eyes of the stone walls. A host as big as this still had prying eyes, of course, but one could say this time she had asked for it.

Before they started their journey, she had pulled her up in a half ponytail, revealing the scar over cheek to every eye in challenge. Somehow she thought it fitting. She was going to King's Landing, and she was going to face with the Queen. The thought made her stomach coil with something very akin to…dread but she could hide no longer, she had to be ready. _Let them call me freak. I played this game before, played it too long. Words are wind... They can hurt, but only if I let them… _She wore the light gilded armor Jaime had the armorer in Riverrun prepared for her over a boiled leather jerkin together with crimson leather gauntlets_, _and her red cloak with trimmed fur was fastened with a roaring golden lion._ Jaime is right. I look like a lion now. But am I truly one?_

She was the only highborn lady marching with the host, but thankfully, there were no bets this time. Whether she felt it or no, she was a Lannister now, and no one could raise a bet concerning her. Perhaps even her horrible scar wasn't the only reason for people to look at her. They were curious to see her, to catch a glimpse of the tall, warrior lady that had managed to capture the Lion of Lannisters' heart. _So they say, _Brienne thought wryly. She was not certain she had ever captured any heart, let alone Jaime's.

_That's, Brienne, a I don't know…_ His answer confused her more as she still had any idea why he wanted to marry her, and she was beginning to suspect that Jaime did not know it himself, either. His remarks were always elusive, and he had a way of ignoring questions he did not wish to answer but Brienne concurred what he had told her had to be true. They could decide what to choose, but they could not decide what to desire. She loved Lord Renly with all of her heart, had shed bitter, silent tears when he wed his Tyrell bride, she felt her heart ripped apart when he died, but despite all of her love, Renly had _never_ made her feel like Jaime did, never made her _wet _with a burning ache inside her aching for him. She was still ashamed of herself, how her body reacted but each night she could not help it. _A woman cannot will what she wills, either._

Though that was another elusive answer, she knew, and if she had to be true with herself, she was inclined to believe it to be a no. No, he would have not asked her hand if she had been as _ugly_ as before. Somehow the notion upset her. Men were drawn to beauty was like moths were drawn to flame, and she had never been a beauty, now or then... _Damn Ronnet Conninghton, damn his wicked leering eyes, damn his wicked mocking words!_

She never meant to meet him. She had understood what Jaime had tried to say. She was at the bailey only for her daily practice with Ser Hyle, but he was already at the practice yard with Lord Merlon. Upon seeing her, the man had come and started retelling his encounter with Jaime, how Jaime had hit him, remarking with a sly smile the Golden Lion must have had a thing for freaks. She _already_ knew the words were only meant to hurt her, of course she knew, and she did not deigned herself with an answer but only looked at him with a sour withering scowl, but then the man gave her a leer, seizing her up and down, making blood boil in her veins, "but you don't look as ugly as before… aside that hideous scar, of course…but perhaps he has a thing for that, too, who knows…I would not mind tasting you myself now… even in the light…" and suddenly she lost herself…lost her senses.

Why did it upset her that much, she did not know. Would it really matter Jaime would have not considered marrying her if she had not lost weight and became more ladylike? She had changed yes, but it had naught with her being lighter in weight. _Yet every morrow I check my appearance in the looking mirror to see if I gain weight… eat so carefully that I will not fill my bodices again…_

She felt a scream rising out of her. She did not understand people, herself included. What she had ever done Ronnet Connington to deserve such a vile? Their fathers had only wanted them to wed, but no one even asked her what _she_ wanted. It was she who should have been affronted. He was a vicious, bitter man; no decent woman would want to be his bride. And Jaime… Jaime would will whatever we would like to will, and would choose however he would please. Big and thick, slim and thin did not matter, she was what she was. Her resolves strengthening, she lifted her head up and noticed Jaime had slowed his pace, and now was trotting beside her. Pulling reins, he wheeled his dark mount closer to her.

"My lady," he greeted her with a half of smile, looking at her, "how do you fare?" His eyes never lingered over her cheek, not even the first time he saw her scar in open sight before they had left Riverrun a week past.

Giving him a look, she straightened her shoulders, adjusting her crimson cloak. _I'm a lion, just like him now. _"A little sore, a little bored," she answered coolly, "this is the first time I pass these lands without someone trying to kill me."

Jaime gave out a low chuckle. She did not exaggerate it, though. Riverlands had already started healing itself. _Peace,_ she reflected wishfully, _he had brought peace._ It was different from the last time she had wandered in Riverlands. The smallfolk that had hid since the beginning of the war had begun slowly tending the torched, barren lands in the hopes that they would at least manage to harvest before the winter fully arrived and the earth froze. She had also seen a few fishermen skiffs in the rivers, nets along the banks in the fisherfolk's villages, and even a few trading galleys, a sight that she welcomed like a beacon of hope. If the commerce was returning, it meant that the peace had really set in. "You've brought back peace to these lands, Jaime," she said, watching a fisherman skiff glided slowly over the water as they rode on the road, suddenly her thoughts about her appearance seemed so vain. She _was_ vain, worrying about that, when so much else was on the stake.

Her voice was laden when she asked, "Do you…do you think Sansa would make it now?" She had been thinking of the younger girl more with each day she spent on the road, wondering if she had made the right thing by stopping her search. "I know our oaths are broken …after all things happened but—but—" Unable to continue more, she faltered.

His relaxed features tightened, he looked at her. "She's never had much of chance to begin with it, Brienne," he confessed, "But we'd taken a vow. We at least had to try."

"No chance, and no choice," she repeated, almost to herself.

He nodded, as if he understood, and perhaps he did. "But I believe she is well," he went on, his eyes fixed on the skiff as well, "If she was caught or dead, we'd have already heard it." Brienne nodded. Dark news had a tendency to spread quickly. "On the morrow we'll be arriving at the inn at the crossroads." Jaime suddenly announced, changing the subject, "Ser Addam will meet us there. We will then move to Harrenhal to join up with the river lords' host."

_Harrenhal…_ Her face souring, this time Brienne shuddered. "Can't we… can't we stay at the inn?" she asked, "I don't like that place. It's cursed."

"I have commanded Ser Addam to turn the inn into an orphanage after you told me there were orphans there. We've been bringing them from wildness, but they're still…not very trusting, so Ser Addam's courier tells me. I think it'd be best if we don't camp with a host over there."

Something clenched in her chest, making her unable to even breathe properly, her heart swelling, every other thought, every other doubt forgotten. _He's a good man._ For a moment, the only thing she wanted to do was to throw her arms around him and kiss him, kiss him until there was no air in her lungs. But she could not do that, not whilst everyone were watching them, so she swallowed over a lump in her throat, and asked with a voice she hoped was clear enough, "We can go to Silent Isle. I—I've visited there once. The Elder Brother was a kind man to visitors."

She would like to see Elder Brother again. Perhaps she could even tell the worldly septon what had happened to her after she parted from the island. Perhaps he could even make her understand. But Jaime's mouth had a downward turn that inclined he did not like the idea. "He's not like the septons you know," she explained, "He was a warrior before, fought at the Trident. For Prince Rhaegar. He was wounded at the war, and somehow drifted to the island. After the war he decided to stay and joined the septry." For a simple life, she almost added. Somehow she felt like she could understand Elder Brother's motives now better than she had first met him. She understood what the man had tried to tell her when he had told her go back to her home before it was too late for her. Her hand almost raised and touched her cheek, but she willfully kept it at her side. _I still don't know where home is… _She was returning to Tarth, her father needed her, yet it did not feel like she was going back to home. _I'm a wed woman now, isn't my home where my husband is?_

"Sounds an interesting fellow," Jaime commented, his lips now quavering upward, then bowed his head at her, "Very well, then, if it please my lady."

The grey mists that hung over Red Fork were slowly lightening to the east through clouds, revealing the Quiet Isle's pale shores and terraced fields with fishponds below and even from shore she could see the shape of the grove of apple trees and the windmill half a mile away. The tides in, they were all sitting in a ferry, her and Jaime, and Podrick and Ser Hyle, and three Lannister guardsmen, sworn to protect their liege lord with Lord Devan accompanying. Her current company was so different from the last time that Brienne found herself wondering again how her life had come to this. They landed on the pebbled path from the boats and started climbing toward the top of the hill.

Elder Brother was already waiting them at the steps below the windmill, looking like he had seen all with a touch of fatherly gentleness that Brienne had missed above all. Even at first glance, she felt tears pricking in her tears. She walked—almost ran to the man, and stopped before him, her eyes burning. "By the grace of the Mother," Elder Brother called to her softly, his eyes following her cheek where her scar ran over across, his eyes filled with pity, "I warned you, child." He shook his head, the gentle eyes moving to the brooch over her chest, the golden roaring lion on its feet and then beyond her shoulders. She craned her neck to follow it, and fell on Jaime.

He walked and stood beside her, but didn't introduce himself, like he was waiting for Brienne to do it. "Brother, this is Jaime of House Lannister," she obeyed, "Lord of Casterly Rock, the Warden of the West, and—and—"

"—and her husband," Jaime finished when she faltered, his voice as cool as winter morning, "My lady wife has spoken of you and your island with such a great valor I wished to come to give my gratitude and my thanks to the man who helped my lady on her quest and ask to be your guests for the night, if it please you."

Elder Brother at first gave her a lingering look before he turned to Jaime and bowed his head. "Our doors are open to every wanderer, my lord."

They spent the rest of the day feasting together in the common hall, Elder Brother retelling his story for Jaime who listened to it with interest, beside the fire in the hearth, circled around the older man, voices hushed into whispers not to disturb the peaceful silence inside the hall. Jaime's eyes found Brienne every now and then and every time she ran hers away.

Soon Podrick and Ser Hyle had taken their leave, and Jaime took his company to wander the island and septry and she was alone with Elder Brother beside the hearth, clad in crimson tunic and dark breeches, her ruby over her neck, her lion brooch at her chest.

Elder Brother looked at it. "He left us alone knowingly," he remarked, lifting his eyes to hers.

Brienne had thought the same, so she nodded. "He thought I might want to talk with you...alone."

"Do you…do you want to talk with me, child?" Elder Brother asked back.

"I—I feel lost—" she admitted, then she started retelling everything happened after she left the island, her search, her fight with Bitter and mummers, her dreadful wound and fever, how she called for Jaime while orphans healed her, then orphans giving her to Lady Catelyn, the dead woman's terrible vengeance, and the way Podrick looked at her while they hanged him, wordlessly, then her almost betrayal of Jaime, and how she could _not_ do it… how she could not lead him to death even if it meant an innocent's death… their trap and escape, and finally Jaime's decision… their wedding… and her home's invasion… she told him everything, even her torn feelings, how Ronnet Connington's cruel words hurt her, how Jaime's elusive answers were confusing her, then she finally said, touching the lion at her chest with her fingertips, "I barely recognize myself now… I do not know anything anymore. I do not know who I am, do not know what I am, or what I am supposed to be…"

"Nothing is abiding but change," Elder Brother said, "We come to this world with soft pink skin then leave it with wrinkled grey skin, but we are still the same. There are seven facets of the light, but it's still the same light that breaks over the crystal. One looks at the Seven and sees the Father, the other looks and sees the Mother. You say you don't know who you are, what you are… then think as it: you have a lifetime to find out."

A fat tear slowly trailed along her cheek as Elder Brother looked at her with pitying eyes, before he stood up, "May the Mother have mercy on your soul, sweet child," he said, placing a gentle hand over her shoulder before he left.

Drying her cheeks with the back of her hand, Brienne followed him out, walking toward the apple grove. The grove used to give her solace when she had been here, listening to the waves as they gently hit on the terrace. She did not want to think, she did not want to understand anymore. She only wanted…peace.

She entered the grove, walking to the edge then she saw him, sitting beneath a tree, watching the shore below the terraces, wind blowing through his golden hair. Would it be possible that they both wanted to feel the same solace? _Don't think,_ she ordered herself, _don't… you have a lifetime to find out…_

Wordlessly, Brienne walked to him. He bowed his head at her. "My lady."

"Jaime," she said back, sitting next to him.

He gave her a smile back, and amended, "Brienne."

They both fell in a silence then, but Brienne did not feel disturbed, it was even comforting. _The Quiet Isle…_ "This's a peaceful septry," Jaime said, breaking the silence, "Probably because no one talks…" he added.

Her lips half parted in a smile. "Elder Brother does," she reminded him.

"Aye, but he's not a good conversationalist."

Brienne looked ahead, "He's a good man, found his place in the world."

Jaime gave her a look, shaking his head, "He's just a broken man, Brienne," he said, "And _this_…this isn't a solace, but a hide-out." Tears prickled her eyes again, because she knew he was…right, Elder Brother was as broken as they were, but at least he knew himself. She was going to tell Jaime that, too, but he suddenly claimed, "I saw the Hound."

Her head snapped at him, her eyes widened. "Sandor Clegane?"

"The same one—" Jaime affirmed, "And no Stark girl is with him. He came here alone."

"But—but Elder Brother said the Hound is dead," she said, but as she spoke she remembered he had said forsooth "he was at rest".

"Aye, the Hound is dead," Jaime affirmed again. "We have Brother Sandor here. He's taken a vow of silence. I saw him in the stables, and he was grooming a white mare outside, all clad in brown robes, his hood was on. I almost passed him by, not recognizing but then an eastern wind blew and his hood flickered and I caught a glimpse what was underneath, and we looked at each other."

"What did you do?" Brienne whispered, still perplexed.

"Me? Naught." He shrugged, "Far be it from me to keep a man from his Gods. I walked away."

"But—but—"

"No buts, Brienne," he said with a firm look, "He did not to break the King's Peace in these lands, although he was not blameless, he made his choice. Leave it at that."

She looked at him deeply. Somehow he always found a way to dazzle her. She realized now what he tried to say. Whatever she felt, Jaime must have felt in ten folds. He had lost his sword hand. He had lost his father, his uncle, his sister, his lover, his brother… At the end they were all broken men. _He asked me if we could have a simple life together._

"It won't last long, though," he said after a while, closing his eyes. She looked at him in question. He opened his eyes. "This—" He waved his hand in the air idly, "It won't last long," he repeated. "Every each of us is made of a different cloth… I don't know what his is, but I know it isn't of the gods. You know what we say about Rock?" he asked, but he went on before waiting for her reply, "You can take a man out of Rock, but you cannot take Rock out of him." He gave her a weary smile, "Elder Brother took him out of the war, but he will not take the war out of him."

_No… no one could take out the war in the hearts. _Suddenly tired, she rested her back along apple tree's trunk. She could hear the slow waves hitting on the shore, against the cliff... It reminded her home. "Do you have any groves beside the sea in Casterly Rock?" she asked, changing subject. She did not want to dwell on the battles in the hearts, a battle with no winning side.

Jaime understood her wish. "Not of apples, but yes, we have groves at Casterly Rock, though they are not as peaceful as this. Casterly Rock is a carved out of a great stone hill colossal rock. The waves hit furiously at the cliffs." He paused for a second, and Brienne tried to imagine how it would be, Tarth was not a high sea mountain but a low round sphere, no rocky hills that waves hit furiously… In her father's keep Evenfall, the waves made a soft song.

"But there is that place close to the bottom of the rock," Jaime continued, "Inside a secluded cliff—easing gently in the shore, the waves licking the cliff's surface, not thunderous battle, but gentle like a mother's caress. Mother used to go there and sit by herself, listening to the waves. She used to say it gave her peace. While I was a child, I oft went there and listened to their songs after her death… It was really very peaceful." He paused, his eyes finding hers again, "I will show it to you when we go back to home."

_Home… _She looked at him, caught in the moment, his voice like a lullaby to her with the gentle songs of the waves. _Home…_ Was Casterly Rock her home now? She did not know. Was Quiet Isle Hound's home now? She was not certain if the man himself knew the answer. Suddenly Brienne realized it did not matter at all. What Jaime had said was true, it was not what the Hound was, but Elder Brother had said was also true; they all had a lifetime to find out. So nodding, she smiled for him, "Yes, I would like to see it, Jaime."

The smile he gave her back warmed her insides, warmed her soul, not a burning fever but a sweet warmth that spread all over her body, and she treasured it along with her few childhood memories, the first time she swam in Tarth's sapphire waters, the first time she finger painted, and the first and only time she danced with her dead King…and she stored Jaime's smile next to those memories, for bleak, dreary days to remember it.

Her chest swollen again, she did another thing she had not dared yet, she drew closer to him, and slowly rested her head on his shoulder. He was surprised only for a second or so before the tension in his muscles eased, and his arm circled around her, gently pulling her closer. She closed her eyes, oddly satisfied, the warmth she was feeling heating her like summer sun, waves making their soft song. "Jaime, thank you," she whispered, the words so faint she barely even heard herself.

But Jaime did, "For what?" he whispered back.

She could say a million things, thank you for saving me, thanking you for coming for me, thank you for believing in me, thank you for forgiving me, thank you for being there for me… "For everything," she simply said.

His only answer was a kiss at her temple, a soft gentle thing.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

_Jaime:_

Dark waters in the dark caverns hit slowly around his ankles as Jaime stood, his eyes searching the darkness of the heights above his head, his ears picking of wings flutters, distant echoes… bats… he thought, as he saw a greyness in the air amidst the pitch black… fluttering, fluttering, fluttering, screaming, _he's back, he's back, he's back… _They flew over him and the water started stirred… _Beware of the water… _

His eyes caught a flicker of light in the dark waters, and a glint of steel… then he remembered. "I'm dreaming," he whispered, to himself, his words echoed in the heights of the cavern. He bent and searched the dark waters and found the sword. When he took it out, he saw it was burning again with a pale blue flame. _My flame is still burning._

Jaime raised his hand, made of gold, and raised the burning sword, dark and cold in his touch, and wings fluttered again, _"He's back—" _they cowed.

_Ravens… _Jaime though… _not bats, they are ravens…_

Suddenly Brienne was beside him. "Is there a bear down in the cave?"

"No," he said, "There are no more bears." He turned to her. "I saved you."

She did not look like her Brienne now, she was big again, big and thick, and pink in that hideous gown with Myrish lace. "Thank you—" she whispered, then she was again the woman he married, only a crimson cloak draped over her nakedness, his ruby charm over her neck, "Your sword is aflame" she said, her voice sad, in the distant he heard the waves hitting a shore.

His eyes crestfallen, he looked at waters…no waves. "Brienne—"

"Your sword is aflame," she repeated, her eyes wide and moist with tears. She shook her head, "They will burn as long you live, when they die, you'll leave me."

"I'm not," he said, "I'm not leaving you."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

Then she disappeared. And in her stead, others came. This time, Cersei was with them, too, naked but covered with dirt and soil, her hair short. There were trails of tears over her dirtied cheeks. "You did this to me!"

He shook his head. "I did not… You did it to yourself."

She opened her hands and green flames licked over her palms, "I will burn the heart out of you," she whispered as she vanished and Jaime found himself facing with RhaegarTargaryen again, crown with mist and grief, riding to him, making no noise.

"You swore an oath to protect," the fallen prince told him on his horse, "Will you protect him?"

"He's not your son," Jaime said back, rising his burning sword, his eyes catching the golden lion pommel… _Oathkeeper._ It was Oathkeeper he held in his hand. "He's dead."

"He's back," Arthur Dayne said next to the ghost of Rhaegar, and he heard the wings again, "He's returned."

"And they're coming—" Thoros of Myr said, appearing beside them, "Look at the flames."

"I don't understand—" he muttered, looking at the red priest.

"Dragon has three heads," the fallen prince said, "Until your flames wane."

"Look at the flames..."

He raised the burning sword and looked at the pale blue flames… Brienne was lying in the snow beneath a weirwood tree, almost peacefully as blood soaking the snow under her red... he was knelt over her on one knee, crying, Oathkeeper in his hand, dark and blue with flames… He opened his mouth to scream…

Jaime woke up screaming-

"Jaime!" Brienne cried out, half rising from his chest where she lay over, looking at him with concern.

Jaime looked at deep blue wide eyes, his heart galloping madly in his chest. He raised his hand and touched her cheek. Warm, soft skin… He closed his eyes, pulling her back to his chest, his arms tightening around her. "It was just a dream," he whispered, his eyes closed tightly.

It was just a dream. She was in his arms, safe and secure, her head resting over the crook of his shoulder. Since Quiet Isle they were sleeping like this, his arms protectively around her as she snugged against his chest. They had been on the road almost a week now after the Isle, and the more they went south, the more talks they heard; the country, towns and small villages boiling with the rumors of the last dragon's coming.

He opened his eyes. "My pardons," he told Brienne, bowing his head to catch her eyes, "I woke you up."

She shook her head against his chest. "It's fine. The sun almost broke."

As his fingers were making lazy patterns over her skin, she trembled. Under her, he hardened. She felt it, and raised her eyes to him. He gave her a look, heated, his dream fading_… It was just a dream._ And she was warm against him, alive, and his… He turned them around, taking her under him, and opening her legs with his own, he entered into her with one long movement and fucked her slowly, savoring every moment, his eyes riveted on hers, making her see him as he took her... This slow burn intensity was unfamiliar to both of them, but she enjoyed it as much as he did, he could tell from the way she bit his neck to muffle her screams, drawing her fingers at his back when he finally brought to her peek. Finishing after her, Jaime rolled over off her and looked at sailcloth roof as she shook with tremors next to him, spent, but her features eased into that unworldly look only a woman well-satisfied by her man could have. At that moment, she looked more beautiful than any other woman he ever knew, and he wanted nothing more than to take her and hide her somewhere, somewhere only they knew, beneath an apple tree.

Under that tree, something shifted between them. Perhaps it was because of the talk they had shared, or perhaps the tranquility the silent isle had provided but when she came to him, resting her head on his shoulder, he had sensed it deep down in his bones. No one had ever thanked him for anything. Cersei always acted like he ought to do it simply because it was her wish, his father always demanded things because he was his son, and kings always ordered him because obeying commands was his duty. But whatever they had found, they would lose it once they set a foot in the city.

Cersei_… I will burn the heart out of you…_ That really sounded like her. The dream was ominous. The first he had seen the likes of it, Brienne had asked him about the lions, wolves, and bears, and then he had found her in the bear pit. He had never believed such kind of things but…perhaps Qyburn was right.

He recalled the crimson bundle his father had demonstrated to Robert, face beyond recognition. They could not even look at it properly, and Jaime had turned his head aside completely, closing his eyes, going inside. The red priest had meant Aegon when he had told him he had returned? Then Thoros of Myr had gone to the wrong place, he reflected. _Aegon is in East. _"You're worried," Brienne remarked, turning on her side to look at him. "Is it because of the rumors?" she asked softly.

Craning his head, he looked at her too. "There are still many people who are loyal to dragons," he said slowly.

"Yes," Brienne agreed, "Your dream… what was it about?"

Sometimes she was too smart. "I—dreamed Prince Rhaegar," he answered, "He told me I swore to protect his child."

She frowned. "You said he's feigned."

"I told you he'd not listen to me saying who he cannot be." He sighed. "No one really saw _him_, Brienne. My father showed Robert only a body, but his face…" He paused, grimacing, "His face was unrecognizable."

Brienne took a sharp breath. She must have heard the story. The Lannister way for dealing with nuisances. "I did not know," he whispered what he had told to Prince in the dream, "If I knew… " he paused again, "Prince Rhaegar was going to remove his father from the throne after Trident." Brienne's eyes widened, Jaime continued, "I'd asked him let me come with him to Trident. More than a Kingsguard, I was Aerys's hostage. He always kept me beside his throne lest my father tried something. Rhaegar knew it, and he knew my frustration, too. I'd asked to join him before he left for Trident… my duty was to protect the king and the royal family, but he did not allow me. But told me things were going to change after his return. He was going to call the Great Council."

"To remove his father?" she whispered.

Jaime nodded. "For what else? If he—if Robert didn't kill him, things would have been different." _I wouldn't be Kingslayer._

Brienne shook her head. "He's abducted his betrothed."

"That he did," he sighed out, a frown over his brows. "Sometimes I don't understand. He—abducting another man's woman. It was not like him."

"People do crazy things for love," Brienne said softly.

And it hit him like a blow. _The things I do for love._ He pushed the fur blankets away and stood up. "Ja—Jaime?" Brienne asked, perplexed, pulling the blanket back over her nakedness, half rising from the bed, but he did not answer.

He shifted in his linen shirt over his head, and wore his leather jerkin and breeches. "Jaime—" Brienne almost sobbed, her voice was a whisper, "I did not mean you—I didn't mean like it."

He returned to her. "No, you were right. People do crazy things for love. What I told to Lady Stark was true. I flung her son out of the tower."

Before he left the tent, he saw her starting to cry.

The camp was already awake, the sunlight creeping through the clouds at east, coloring the sky purple and pink. Returning from Quiet Isle, they had camped near the southern shore of Gods Eye as Brienne didn't like Harrenhal, and he was not fond of the cursed place, either. So he left the castle, ordering the camp at the southern shore. Close to the ancient isle on the lake, the shores were circled with a grove. He saw a red-white weirwoods, just beside his tent. Something irked him. In north, those trees were believed to have spirits inside. His first dream on the way back to King's Landing had come to him too while he slept over a weirwood stump. It could not be a coincidence. _Brienne was bleeding under a weirwood tree_, he recalled his dream, a shudder running over his spine.

Ser Addam found him there while he watched the old red-white trees. "My liege," the man greeted Jaime, his childhood friend calling him his _liege_… Jaime continued to stare at the trees. "It's the faces—" the other man hissed, turning his eyes to the trees as well, "I swear they're watching us."

_Let them see…_ Jaime turned his attention away from the trees. _Ghosts or spirits, I'm going to do what I must. _"Call the horns," he ordered, "send the word to drummers to set the tune for marching. We're leaving."

Ser Addam frowned. "My lord—there are still garrisons to arrive. We could at least wait for another day."

He shook his head. "I have already waited long enough. They will join us on the road," Jaime said, turning, "Send the word."

He started his morning tour like every morrow, checking his men, letting them see him walking among them, letting them know that he was one of them. Most of times, he doubted his place in the world, a heir to his father, a sworn knight to the King, a lover to his sister, a protector to his little brother, a witty uncle to his children, but not when he was in the battlefields. He knew exactly what he was among his men. He was their Lord Commander, nothing more nothing less. He walked around checking the camp, drums and horns echoing in the air, men-at-arms starting preparations, squires running errands, shouts blazing in the air, horses whining, tents being undone, wagons loaded. The more he walked, the calmer he felt. Each of them was made of a different cloth, yes, and his was being a warrior, simple as that. He was never ashamed of loving his sister, only things he had done for it. Brienne, if she wanted a place in his life, would have to accept that. He was not going to hide who he was… not again, _never_ again. Perhaps that was the answer they were looking for, the reason why it had to be _her_.

He found her still in his pavilion, gloomily looking at the brazier. He took the seat beside her, his eyes at the flames. He almost saw her in depths, lying death. Was that truly a foreshadowing? He was killing her now with his secrets, with his words? "He saw us at the old tower at Winterfell," he started, "Robert had gone to hunting, and I'd missed Cersei on the road. We should have been more discreet, but you know me… I thought he was spying on us." He paused a second, remembering his talk with Lady Catelyn, "He probably was not," he went on, "but I was…scared. He was perched at the window, almost fell, but I caught him then shoved him out. I only did that, the cutthroat wasn't me. Cersei said it wasn't her, either, and I know it was not Tyrion, too. So I don't know who sent him for the boy. Someone who probably wanted to see Starks and Lannisters at war."

That had her finally looking at him. "Who?"

He shrugged. "Anyone. I do not know. It's not important anymore." He closed his eyes, taking a breath. "Whatever I did, I did to protect my family."

"That's not an excuse," she said curtly.

"No," he agreed, "that's what it is. I'm never ashamed loving Cersei, Brienne, only things that I have done because of it. I didn't understand that fully until I met you, too."

"Until you met me?"

He nodded. "You—you were a young maiden who was trying to be a knight, and everyone was telling you cannot but you still were the _most_ knightly person I have ever met since a long time. All our way back, I wanted to get back to Cersei then I realized I was sick of lies, sick of pretending, sick of the things I did for it… Why could I be not brave like you?" He paused, "After we returned, I asked her to wed me no matter what. I begged her, I told her I don't care, I was just sick of it, told her I just wanted to be with her… Joff was dead, Mycella was to wed in Dorne, Tommen could have Casterly Rock… and…we… we could just go away… be together. We would still have each other, what else would we need?" His tone was sharp now, cut on irony, and he shook his head at his own naivety.

"She looked at me like I was mad. She told me I _changed_." With that, he let out a bitter laugh. "I lost a war, spent almost a year in a dark dungeon in chains, lost my sword hand, walked the realm with my rotting hand over my neck, and she accused _me_ of being changed." He laughed again bitterly, "Soon we grew apart further and she sent me away back in Riverrun when I didn't accept being the Hand after Father's death. Then I learned she opened her legs half of King's Landing while I was away."

She looked at him, eyes cold. "Do you want my pity or my forgiveness, Jaime?"

"None of it," he answered, his face closing off, "I want no one's pity, as for forgiveness, there is none. I did what I had to. I'm ashamed, Brienne, of the things I did, but I do not regret."

Her face turned even colder. "Then why you told me?"

"You once told me I owe you an answer," he answered, "and you were right, I do. You asked me why you but not anyone else," he continued, "I could not answer you for I did not know it myself, not until today."

He stopped, waiting her to ask it. He could not tell her before he heard it from her lips. He needed to hear it. For a moment or so, she looked at him, but did not speak, and he felt the fear… the dream… her laying over the snow_… I'm losing her…_ "Why me?"

"For anyone else I'm either Kingslayer or Lannister's heir. You're the only woman who truly knows who I am."

She shook her head, tears falling. "I know who you are, Jaime," she whispered. "And sometimes it frightens me."

His eyes found hers. "You chose me over Podrick," he told her, "You were ready to let him die. You were ready to let an innocent boy die because of me. Does it frighten you, as well?"

She looked at him as if he had stricken her, her teary eyes widened. "That-that's not the same," she said, though her voice weak, it did not falter, "I was not killing him. It was not _me_."

"Does it make a difference? Dead is dead."

She shook her head. "You don't believe that. I know you don't."

"How?"

"Because I know you."

Bowing his head, he agreed, "Aye, I don't. I want no secrets anymore. No lies. No half-truths. I'm suited of doing bad things…if I don't see any other way out. I threatened to kill Edmure Tully's unborn child if he did not convince his uncle to yield the castle peacefully. I told him if they did not lay down their arms, I'd storm off the castle and slaughter everyone inside then send his unborn child back to him when it's born with a trebuchet."

She swallowed. "Would you—would you do it if he didn't yield?"

He looked at her directly in the eyes. "Storming off the castle and slaughtering everyone, for a certainty. Sending his child back to him…I don't know. I'm just glad I don't have to find out." Until another siege, until another war… "If you want to leave, I would understand. But you needed to know."

She stood up. For a moment or so, his heart stopped as she looked at him. He wanted to beg her to stay, not to leave him… that he was also frightened of the man he would be without her standing beside him, that he could not be the man he was now if not she was with him, but he didn't speak.

"Ser Devan informed me that we leave within an hour," she said as she started walking out. "I'll see you on the road, my lord."

* * *

_A/N: Waited so long for this chapter... especially Jaime's dream, because it's kinda the foundation of this story, and of course his confession, and why it had to her. To me, it was very obvious, but it took some time before Jaime got it. _


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen:

_Brienne_

King's Landing, set up on three hills lay before them majestically as they stood over the hill top that looked over the fields of the city walls at the Old Gate beside Rhaenys's Hill, thousands of crimson peaks of tents lay over under the hills skirts outside the city. To her right, she could see the misted silhouette of Dragonpit ruins at its top. Below at the south, the fields colored blue, the bright blue of Tyrells, where their host had camped at tourney grounds without the city.

Even from here, Brienne could smell of the city; as Jaime had once delicately put in; smoke, sweat, and shit. After the freshness of the wildness, it smelled awful to her nose. The Red Keep was laying at the far end of the city, above all at the Ageon's Hill, a burning flame even under the grey mists of the winter. She shuddered.

She really did not want to see the city. Especially not after with her last talk with Jaime. They had not seen each other since that day, the only time they had been in the same room was his war council, but he did not seek her out at nights, and Brienne did not go to him. Perhaps she would have not denied him if he came, but he did not, so Brienne slept in her own bed at nights, alone, and missing his warm body beside her, holding her against him in the cold. The nights were colder alone.

But she was not going to go to him_. I want no secrets anymore, no lies, not half-truths,_ he had said. Perhaps she could tell her own secret too. That she knew it, that she had always known it was him who pushed Lady Catelyn's son out of the tower but she just did not want to believe it, believe that the man she had come to respect and love would harm an innocent boy like this, not willingly, there must have been something… perhaps he just tripped—and Jaime couldn't have helped him…

But she always knew. She knew how fiercely he protected his family. _He threw himself into the bear pit for me… He protected me._

His father's men-at-arms master was a wise man, he taught her things even Maester Omen did not, but he always used to say theory and practice was a dichotomy, and she could not understand the fancy words however she tried. She did now. She was feeling it now, right into her bones, the difference between believing and knowing. Since the night he had confirmed the deed, the belief turned into a reality. She knew what he was capable of, but hearing it from his own lips… _I'm just glad that I don't have to find out._

He was a dangerous man, capable of doing bad things if he believed in it, but he was also that honorable man who had saved her, respected her, trusted her, cared for her, cared for smallfolk, more than any other high lords she knew… He was all those wonderful, amazing things, and he was also the man who would kill children… for his family or to bring peace.

_And you still chose him over Podrick…_ That she did, and he was right. It did frighten her sometimes. "It does look beautiful, isn't it?" suddenly she heard his voice beside him, and slightly jumping, she turned to him. He had sneaked upon so silently she did not hear him. _Or perhaps I am so in my thoughts, I did not hear it._ "From this far it doesn't look like a nest of treachery."

She straightened her shoulders to compose herself. "Everything looks better from a certain distance." Was it something she had heard once from one of her suitors? She could not recall. But words came to her familiar.

He nodded in agreement. "Aye…from here it even looks almost peaceful." He paused, turning to her, "My lady, I'm afraid I must ask you to take off Oathkeeper at the morrow. We need to walk into the city as Lord and Lady of Casterly Rock."

Curtly, she nodded. She was expecting it. He could not have his lady wife carrying a sword inside the Keep, of course. _I chose this._ Though, the decision had seemed much better when she did not have to spend her nights alone in the cold. "But carry a dagger hidden in your sleeves," he instructed, "I'd feel better at rest if I know you're still armed."

She looked at him. "Do you expect me to be in danger?"

He gave her a look. "I _know_ you are in danger, Brienne."

Wordlessly, she nodded back then looked aside. "How the preparations fare?" she asked, mostly because she did not want him to leave. She had missed him. Gods burn her, but she had missed him.

"Almost finished," he answered, "We prepared a small garrison that will escort us in the city, two hundred men-at-arms and another fifty as our household guards. Ser Addam is to take the command of them as Ser Daven will have the command of the host whilst we're in the Keep."

She frowned. She had expected Jaime to bring more men into the city. "I thought more men will accompany us," she remarked thoughtfully.

His face soured, and she knew he had given that fight before with his commanders. "I am not going to circle myself with guardsmen like a frightened child. My army is without the city walls. They would not dare anything… daring." He paused then asked, suddenly shifting the topic, his voice at ease, "The nights are getting colder. Have you in need of anything?"

She looked at him with widened eyes. She blinked a few times then turned her head away. "You would have known if you came by." She had meant her voice to be curt, but to her dismay, it came out almost like a whine.

She felt tears pricking in her eyes. "I—I thought—" Jaime started, but stopped, shaking his head. "Never mind." He bowed his head at her. "I will come tonight, my lady."

True to his word, he came, before the moon raised high in the sky, looking at her at her tent's flap. She felt her eyes watering again, just watching him, and she did not want to think any longer, she did not want to know, did not want to understand, she just wanted to be with him, no matter what.

She ran to him. Leaping forward, he took her in his arms before she reached him, already starting a kiss. Later in the night, as she cried over his chest, her naked body still shaking with tremors, he only held her tightly, caressing her hair silently.

This—she then thought… this… had to be love, unavoidable, inescapable, mad… and somehow she felt she had to tell him… he said no secrets between them anymore. "Jaime—" she whispered behind tears, "I—I—" she faltered, words dying on her lips.

Tipping his chin down, he looked at her, then he sighed out. He closed his eyes, his arms tightening around her, "Wear something blue at the morrow. It looks better on you."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen:

Jaime:

As he walked into the Red Keep from the Dragon Gate, Jaime felt everything was amiss with his life. Much like how he had left it, there was no crowd cheering for his return, only curious onlookers casting keen glances and whispers from the dark corners of the streets or behind the half closed shutters of the houses, voices too low for the fear of to be heard. A poignant silence were surrendering them, only disturbed by the heavy thuds of the hooves of their mounts on the pebble road and the soft clanks of steel as the armored knights rode beside them. Before the line, his standard-bearers went; one raised for Tommen, the other was Lannister's crimson-and-gold.

_I am Lord of Casterly Rock._ The title never depressed him much like to-day. It felt like he was carrying all the weight of the Rock on his shoulders, wearing him down and his shoulders were tensed like a strained bow to keep them straight. His gilded armor glinted golden under the breaking sun, roaring lions crested into the steel over his gorget, his crimson heavy cloak draping over them, not a touch of white on his person. His face turned stoner. _I am Lord of Casterly Rock. And I'm going to be Lord Protector. I'm going to sit on Iron Throne._

He had thought himself ready, but with each step he took toward the castle, he understood he was not, not yet. _I have no choice._

He could imagine the words Cersei would wail upon seeing him… _traitor… traitor… traitor…_ How could they talk with each other now, he did not know. How could he look at her without passing in his mind all the men's names she had been with, he did not know. He had recanted those names so much that it felt like they had etched on his memory. How could he even talk with her now? And that was only one part.

There was also the _other_ part, the part that rode at his right side in silence, face an expression of indifference, fully composed. He threw a side glance at Brienne. She was dressed in blue, her cloak was whiter than snow, draping over her shoulder. The only red on her was his ruby around her neck, the only golden was the roaring lion brooch at her chest.

The sight of her oddly soothed his rattled nerves and he gave her another look, this time openly. She was at the edge last night, was about to make a confession, but words didn't follow, and Jaime thought he knew what that was about. He had known since Quite Isle whatever between them now had already passed beyond the borders of simply caring, but he was not sure if he was ready to hear them, let alone utter them back.

She might have felt the same, as she could not dare finish it, her cries shaking her more deeply, and that moment Jaime felt heartsick, a sigh pulling itself out of him. Life…life should not be this complicated. _A wife should not feel this torn to tell her husband what she feels._ But she felt torn, torn about him, torn about her feelings for him, that little comfort they had found under the apple tree was lost under the shadow of the King's Landing. _This wretched city takes away every beauty. _Still, she wanted him. She truly wanted him, good and bad altogether, he could not be certain of it until yesterday, until when she welcomed him into her bed again. During the days they had spent apart after his confession he had thought about seeking her, but every time forsook the idea. He had played that dance with Cersei, but he was not going to do it again with Brienne. If she asked, he would give, if she came, he would take her, but not the other way around. Not again.

There were three golden cloaks of the City Watch at the gatehouse to the Red Keep, patrolling under half rose portcullis, and when they saw his approach, they stood sigil, the spear in their hands spread to a salute. He gave them a brief nod, passing by, and watched with the corner of his eyes catching them Brienne with curious eyes.

Brienne pretended not to notice. He stole a quick glance at her then turned his eyes away, towards the red walls glinting fiercely at the breaking sun, and a golden glint at the top of the main stairs caught his eyes. His eyes reverted, Jaime watched until the glinting silhouette took a shape of woman, then the shape turned into a familiar figure of a woman he knew well. Cast of a stone, crimson head to toe, like the walls behind her, Cersei watched them riding, her beautiful golden curls short above her ears, like a tomboy's hair, her face unreadable.

A guilt…the regret he had not let himself feel since the time he had heard her name on the lips of Lance Lannister filled into him. _Sweet sister, what have they done to you? _ With a flicker of red, she was gone, hid in the shadows.

He looked at Brienne again, who was still riding beside him with a cool face, and he saw the fingers held the reins had a slight tremble in them. He turned to his left, "Cousin," he called Lord Devan, "Escort Brienne to her apartments in the Maegor's Holdfast after the introductions. Put three guardsmen at her door, day and night."

Her eyes flew over him as he talked to his cousin. "Jaime!" she almost exclaimed, then dropped her voice into a whisper. "I have no need of guardsmen."

"Brienne, please, for the love you bear me, do _not_ protest."

Something passed over her face as quick as it came, then she nodded.

The Great Hall's great oak-and-bronze doors stood tall above them, and two of his former brothers guarding the entrance, Ser Meryn and Ser Boros. His face fell a little. He gave them a nod, titling his head down at his horse. "Brothers."

"My _Lord_ Lannister," Ser Meryn called him, and it sounded like a curse. Then his eyes fell on Brienne, "My Lady," he bowed at her.

Jaime sent him a glare, and looked at Ser Boros. "Who is the Lord Commander now?" he inquired.

"Lord Mace named Ser Loras after you, my lord, but—" He gave a shrug, "He's gravely injured at siege at Dragonstone. The Queen insisted Ser Robert a few times but…well, he is not very apt to give orders."

Jaime frowned, reining in to still Honor. "Why?"

The Brothers exchanged a look. It was Ser Meryn answered, "Our good Brother has taken a vow of silence." Good gods, a Brother who took a vow of silence. Jaime could not know if he should laugh or cry. Ser Boros announced, pushing the heavy bronze-oak doors, "His Grace awaits you, my Lord."

The doors opened, revealing the Great Hall, where the Iron Throne sat on the iron dias, black and deadly as the broken swords of it was forged. Three of them rode by side by along the wide red-carpeted tiles in the empty hall, their mounts hooves echoing in the heights. Tommen sat on the Iron Throne, round and red faced as ever, his green eyes looking at him curious, but the boy still not seem as kingly as ever. He was a gentle boy, alike Myrcella, not like Joffrey, or Cersei. His eyes moved aside and he looked at her, standing a scant foot away from the Throne, her hand protectively touching on one of the blades of the throne. He wondered if it cut her. Even if it did, there was no telling from Cersei's face, it was impassive, her look unreadable, expressionless. She has grown on weight, he could tell, once thinnest her waist become thicker, her face looking plump and red with shorn hair.

The lack of her golden locks stirred his chest deeply when he saw her closely, but he steeled himself. _Every time she looks in the looking glass, she hates me more for abandoning her._ A tall, big man stood at the narrow steps that reached the dias, perhaps as tall and big as the Mountain. He was clad in white, from head to toe, his helmet's visor down, his face could not be seen. _Ser Robert Strong._ At the other side of the throne, Qyburn stood, intently watching the scene unfold. The rest of the room was empty. Jaime wondered where Tyrells were.

"My lord Uncle," Tommen greeted him, "Welcome back home."

_Home…_ Brienne stirred slightly on her horse, as they dismounted and bent their knees. "Your Grace." He took Brienne's hand, raising her, "Allow me to introduce you my lady wife, Brienne of House Tarth."

Brienne curtsied deeply, "Your Grace."

Tommen's face was lightened, his eyes widened in eagerness. "I have heard much about you, my Lady." Brienne shot a glance at him. Jaime gave her a slight shake of head, "Is it true that you fought a bear with my lord uncle? Bare handed?"

"We—" She slowly said, "We did, Your Grace. Your uncle, my lord husband came to my help."

Cersei's mouth flickered ever slightly, and she touched briefly on Tommen's shoulder. "Our honored guests have come from a long way, Your Grace, they shall rest. There will much time to talk about their…adventures whilst we feast come night."

"My pardons," Tommen said, slumping back in the throne, then turned to his mother. "Can I play with Tom now?"

And Jaime pitied his boy. He turned to Devan as Cersei escorted Tommen out, Ser Robert on their tails. "Well, that went well," his cousin said.

Jaime shot at him a look. "Don't tempt the fates," he snapped, turning to Qyburn. "Devan, escort Brienne to her apartments. I will join you later."

Brienne looked torn. "Are you not coming?"

He shook his head. "I will call for small council. We cannot wait." He turned to Qyburn, "Qyburn, I wish to see the council at once," he ordered the former maester as Devan walked Brienne out.

"I have informed the lords of your coming, my lord," Qyburn said, stepping down from the aisle, "if it is your wish to see them, I'll call them to the chambers."

Jaime padded after him. "Who is this Ser Robert?" he asked as they walked through a narrow passage to the council's chambers, "I heard he has taken a vow of silence."

The skinny man nodded. "Aye, my Lord, Ser Robert vowed not to speak until all of His Grace's enemies are dead and evil has been driven from the realm." Jaime pursed his lips. "He's also chosen as the Queen's champion in the trial."

His steps only faltered a second before he continued to follow the older man. "I see."

Qyburn opened the oak door of the chambers, and gave him the way, "My lord."

Jaime stepped in and then stopped… "Cersei…"

Cersei gave him a look, "Qyburn, leave us alone," she ordered.

Qyburn bowed his head, and quickly retreated.

He should have guessed. Cersei looked at him impassionedly until the doors closed and they were alone. Then gathering her skirt, she ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. Stupefied, Jaime stood, unable to move away, but unable to hold her back, either. The arms that locked around him were thicker too, and soft, so soft, her breath already stinking of wine. "Sweet brother, I know you'll come back for me," she whispered into his ear.

Jaime pushed himself off her embrace. "Enough!" he grated at her, "Do not pretend like you are happy to see me."

She faltered on her steps before she regained her balance. "You mean my letter, I know," she said, bowing her head. "I—I was upset, Jaime. I thought you'd abandoned me. Then I heard…I heard that you were to wed that…_creature_—" His fingers itched.

"Her name is Brienne," he sneered at her, a dangerous edge cutting into his voice, "Remember it the next time, sister."

A furious look entered into her eyes, before it vanished, and her expression softened once again. "Brienne," she repeated, "But then I realized you must have been hindered, elsewise you would have never abandoned me. My sweet brother, my sweet lover—" She tried to come at him again, Jaime took a step back. "Jaime-?" she asked, with tears in her eyes.

"Cersei, stop, whatever that's you're playing, _stop_."

She looked at him with glazed eyes, "Did not you miss me, brother?"

"I am married."

She gave him a cutting smile. "To punish me, I recon. But I shall not take offense. We do what we must. You watched me by Robert's side for years, I shall now show the same resilient, how hard and bitter it may be."

Jaime looked at her, this time truly confused. "I did not wed to punish you, Cersei."

She pursed her lips in a mocking gesture he well remembered, "Do you deny that you wed her after I refused you."

"Yes—but—"

She cut him off, smiling her smile, "I understand. As jealous as I am, I am also glad that you did. It would put the blasted rumors to an end. You shall be Lord Protector, and I—your Queen, as we always dreamed."

He shook his head again, suddenly feeling weary, like all of his life was wasted on nothing. "I never dreamed to be a king, Cersei," he told her, "It was always _your_ dream."

Her face soured, "Then why are you here?"

"Because I had to."

She schooled her features again, shaking her head. "It matter not, yes, you're here. We're together again." She walked to him again, touching his arm, "I did miss you, brother, missed you in me, missed you—"

He gave out a bitter laugh, pulling his arm back, "Couldn't you find another lover to take your bed? Ser Robert, mayhaps? I heard he's taken a vow of silence, would suit your interests well."

"Jaime—" She looked at him with tears in her eyes, "Jaime you—you cannot believe it… I—I had to—"

"You confessed!" he yelled at her. Gods, he knew he should not get into there, but he could not seem to stop himself, her betrayal still cut so deep. "I have always been loyal to you, never betrayed you, but you started taking men into your bed just after I was not there."

She shook her head, "No! They are lies! I had to accept. Elsewise they would not let me go… I had to—had to—Tommen was waiting for me." She started crying, "Jaime— look at what they did to me. They cut my hair, they shaved me shorn, they made me walk naked… people leering, cheering, throwing dirt at me. I endured… I endured…for my son…and for you."

For a moment, his resolves shaking, he wanted to take her in his arms, tell her he was here now, and they could not hurt her… never could hurt her again… then he remembered… _I never spilled my seed in her womb…_ He let out a laugh, amused, as if a veil unfolding before his eyes, and what he saw beneath… disgusted him. "I'll give it to you, sweet sister. You got me there for a moment."

"Jaime!" she shrieked, begging to touch at him—

He took a step back again. "Don't _ever_ touch me again." He shook his head. "The confession I heard wasn't yours, Cersei. I saw Lancel at Darry." A frightened look entered in her eyes. "Yes, I should be careful with him, if I were you. He felt so much guilt over betraying his King, serving him wine and fucking his queen."

She stopped crying, and the passive look leaving her face, she turned deadly serious. "You shall not say things like this, brother."

"There is one thing I still wonder, though, Tyrion told me about Lancel, Osmund, and the Moon Boy… I understand Lancel and Osmund…but Moon Boy…please, tell me at least you were not in heat that much you fucked him."

A slap came at him, and like the last time Jaime did not do anything to stop it. After the blow, he only turned, started walking out. "Brother, please—I am sorry!" she called after his back.

Turning aside, he gave her a look over his shoulder, "Doesn't look like anything to me."

* * *

_A/N: Finally Jaime&Cersei showdown, whee. Please, don't forget to review if you like the story. The silence makes me feel like I'm 'talking' to myself :)_


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N: So many thanks for the reviews, it was very nice to hear that you're enjoying it. Dear M, I'll try to update to the other site too, thanks for the advice. Appreciated it._

_Enjoy._

Chapter Eighteen

_Brienne:_

The heavy oak-iron double doors to her suit opened to reveal Jaime standing at the threshold, flanked by two of her guardsmen."Your Grace," the guards muttered, bowing deeply before they closed the doors behind him as Jaime stepped in her chambers.

_Your Grace…_ The honorary title was unfamiliar, so much that every time Brienne heard it uttered she barely contained herself to look at Jaime to assure that he was still the same man she had wed. Yet, Jaime looked… different. His appearance was alike with his slowly greying trimmed beard and with his slowly lengthening sun-kissed hair but the tension in him after that night in the camp had strained him even further in the city. His brows were quicker to scowl now, his lips more eager to sour. Wearing a crimson tunic with his dark leather jack on, golden roaring lion on the chest, he was as lordly as ever, but she missed the Jaime she knew. When she was mostly alone in her chambers, waiting… for _him_… Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Lord of Casterly Rock, Golden Lion of House Lannister, Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm.

Turning aside, Brienne looked down at the city from the window seat in her solar. He walked to her, and took her hand in his. "My Lady—" He kissed her hand lightly. Though his words were soft, his shoulders were stiffened, and she saw the lines etched around his brows. Brienne wondered if he had seen his sister again or had a quarrel with the council. Not a full moon had passed since they had come to King's Landing, but the life in the city had almost turned into a routine.

The massive square holdfast, the keep-into-the keep was a cold, wooden walled castle with a dry moat surrounding it with a drawbridge. She had no friends, aside Podrick and Ser Hyle, which were not her friends, either. Jaime had built a household from his people and told her to keep her own retinue and ladies-in-waiting, but she had only looked at him with bedazzled eyes and refused the idea, pressing that he should not come forth with it again. _What I would do with ladies-in-waiting?_ Even the thought was queer, but Jaime had insisted, "You are Lady of Casterly Rock. You need to have your own entourage."

She thought he was right, she was the Lady of Casterly Rock, but still it felt queer. When she was at Riverrun, there was the wedding to worry about, then on the road there were little to consider than marching and resting while they could, and dreads that would wait them ahead and then what Jaime had confessed occupied everything else… But now behind the strong walls of the secluded holdfast she felt like a captive. She missed the wilderness, she missed the freedom, and she missed…her sword.

Once Lady Olenna and the young Queen Margaery had asked her to join them for tea, giving their social status, she was forced to participate in. To her surprise, she did enjoy that late noon, Lady Olenna was an old woman with a tongue sharper than thorns as her nickname deemed, and Queen Margaery seemed…nice.

She did not look like someone who was waiting for her trial for a capital crime, but she was lively and sweet, making her ashamed of all the times she held undeserved grudge for her. They talked about none of the stuff that dreaded her, the threat at east or her journeys with Jaime before they wed, but kept the talk light with mundane smalltalk and funny gossips. She would—she would like to share sweets and teas with them, but they did not invite her again, and she did not ask.

_The_ Queen—the real one ignored her all the way, and she was glad too. She knew Jaime had talked with his twin at the day they arrived, and that night Jaime had come to her, taking her face both his hands, one cold golden metal one warm calloused skin, and kissed her, kissed her, kissed her deeply until there was no breath left in her, then mounted over her, claiming her in a desperate need. She did not know what he was seeking but she tried to give it to him anyway. Laying in his arms afterward she came close to blur out the words again, but once again they faltered on her lips looking at him… She did not know… Was that love? It still felt so different from what she felt for Renly… She wished to have the simplicity that Jaime wondered, a husband, a wife, merely having each other…or the tranquility and the companionship of the apple tree…this… this was a great deal more complicated, and she did not want it to be.

The tales from south and east were at every lip in the city. They learned only six ships of the sellswords army had arrived to the shores, but a week past they had learned Storm's End had fallen, Golden Company storming off Mathis Rowan and Gilbert Farring alike. She'd been certain Jaime would finally march after the news, but they had still not. She knew Tyrells were giving grief him concerning the young trial. So much Tyrells, she had heard him say one night, "So much bloody Tyrells… I start smelling of damn roses…"

After his uncle's dead, and his sister's stepping down from the power, Tyrells were basically reigning over the Kingdom. With the rest of the council's support they'd given him Regency without so much debate after Jaime had given his word that Cersei was going to sent to the Rock after her trial like how his uncle had arranged before his death, but a few times she caught Jaime cursing under breath "bloody Tyrells, bloody Tarlys."

She even allowed herself a small curse once she heard Randyll Tarly was also camped outside the city wall, arriving for Margaery from Maidenpool, and had been trying her best not to come across at him at Red Keep. As Lady of the Rock she was to be presented to him, and the look Randyll Tarly gave her when Jaime introduced her still made her blood turn cold whenever she thought of it. "I'm at acquaintances of Lady Brienne, Your Grace," the older man had told Jaime, his eyes never leaving hers. Jaime had frowned, and asked her later about it, but Brienne brushed it away. Lord Randyll had a seat in the small council. She did not want Jaime to hold a grudge against the man. She did not want to make things harder for him.

Jaime was staring intently ahead from the windows beside her seat, and she followed his gaze and saw three Warrior Sons patrolling the streets just outside the holdfast. They hadn't been doing that before, she knew. "The armed brothers in the Keep-" he snarled under his breath, cold anger barely restrained in his tone.

Them, she could understand as well, but they were only one of the other problems. _So many problems, so little time… _The Crown was in debts, once Cersei refused to honor their deals, everyone was now cautious to give the Crown new loans. And the winter was at their doorsteps. Jaime had said only half of the grannies were well-stocked, and the fields of the Trident torched since the War of the Five King, they had been depended on Reach too much for his liking. He was trying to rebuild commerce with Free Cities again for supplies but her father was waiting. "They took Storm's End, too, Jaime," she said, "We must march. We cannot delay any longer."

His face hardened, his green eyes alit, "Do _not_ tell me what I must do—" he bit, then closing his eyes, relaxed his voice, "_Everyone_ tells me what I must do. I'm sick of it."

She gave him a look, hurt. "I am _not_ everyone."

"Yes," he said, taking a step forward, and reached out to pull her off her seat, "Yes, you _are_ my wife." He took her in his arms, resting her back against the long windows, "And I do not wish to talk of war right now with my wife." He leaned towards her.

She drew herself back against the window. "Jaime—" He came at her again, giving a kiss under her jawline, "Every time you're doing the same."

"Hmm?" he hummed against her skin.

She felt anger stirring in her. "Every time I wanted to talk to you, you start kissing me."

He ignored her accusing words, "Hmm—" and hummed again, barely lifting his lips off her skin. "Want not to talk… Want to do this..." He planted a kiss, "And this…" and another… "…and this."

She pushed him off her. "I said I _don't_ want it."

Jaime staggered on his feet, looking at her as if she had slapped him. "_Woman_, have you gone mad?"

She shrugged away her hair off her shoulders. She was not mad, nor was she a toy to play with when he was in distress. "I want to talk. I wish to know how the tidings are. I'm captive here, without having anything to do, guardsmen at my door and you—you—only come to me to—to—bed with me."

His jaw clenched. "I'm beset by enemies who want our blood, and by friends that would not mind. Is it not in my rights to seek the companionship of my lady wife for a minute of solace?"

"Companionship, you have, my lord husband, but I am not your play thing."

He looked at her with a hard look then wordlessly he swirled around and walked out. Alone, in her chambers she felt…miserable. Podrick came after he left, as if he had sensed her foul mood. "Does my lady wish anything?" her squire asked. For a second, she wanted to laugh. She was a highborn lady, wed to Protector of the Realm, and as a lady-in-waiting, she had a squire. "Find Lady Olenna and Queen Margaery and ask them if they would like join me for tea—if it please them."

Podrick looked at her, as if she had asked of him his firstborn son. "The—the queen?"

She nodded. "Send for Pia as well." Since they had arrived to the city, Jaime had made the younger girl her maid, even made her prepare her meals all by herself. She suspected he did not trust anyone else.

The younger girl arrived a few minutes later, "Does m'lady hav' a need of me?"

Brienne nodded. "I—I asked the Queen and her Lady Grandmother to share the tea with me. We must prepare a course."

Pia looked dumbfounded, eyes widening, "But m'lady—we—we ain't got anything for tea. You don't make tea."

"Well, I'm making today. Do find something from the kitchens."

Pia looked down, toying with her foot. "His Grace said you ain't to bring food from kitchens."

"_His Grace_ is not here, but I am," she said stubbornly, "I want tea. Go."

Almost shrieking, Pia ran to the door. A minute later, Podrick came back. "Queen Margaery said they'd be delighted to participate, my lady."

An hour later, a small table beside the window was prepared, and she had made Pia don the table with roses, soft pink and white, and unlike Jaime she enjoyed their smells. She looked at the table, silver utensils, glinting silver plates and cups, lemon cakes and pies, delicious doughs… It looked really nice, and somehow she felt very content with herself. The young Queen and Lady Olenna came together, Margaery clapping her hands at her chest, seeing the table. "How lovely," she cried out, running to it, and breathed the roses. "How I wish Tommen was here too, he would like roses, wouldn't he, grandmother?"

Lady Olenna sat on the table, she could swear, with almost a roll of eyes. "Yes, little child, I'm ascertain he likes roses, for that we're all most glad."

Brienne blushed at the words, as Margaery giggled, and Lady Olenna laughed. "Look how our lady blushes like a maid." From another lips Brienne perhaps would find the jape cruel, but Brienne did not mind. Queen of Thorns was cruel with everyone.

Margaery smiled again, taking a seat across from her grandmother. "Did you know Lord Jaime had spent the night with us on the night Tommen and I became husband and wife?"

She did not know that. She looked perplexed, no words coming to her lips. "Hush, child. You are not yet husband and wife, you're only wed."

"But Tommen—he cannot—" Brienne stopped. Tommen was so small for consummation. Why did Jaime stay with them?

Lady Olenna let out a tired sigh. "Try to tell that Cersei, child." Her eyes caught lemon cakes on the table. "Oh, lemon cakes." She took one, having a bite, her eyes scanning her chambers then her gaze fell on the Oathkeeper where it rested on the foot bench over the mantelpiece, its dark metal glinting in the dim light.

"Valyrian steel, if I assume correct?" she asked.

"Aye, Oathkeeper," Brienne said, "It's—Jaime's gift."

Lady Margaery leaned in her seat. "Is it true that you know how to wield a sword?" Her eyes flickered toward her cheek for a second.

Brienne raised her head high. She could not decipher the words held awe or contempt, but she would be never ashamed of that. "Aye."

Lady Olenna nodded in thoughts. "Loras mentioned you, when he thought you killed Renly, but later Jaime vouched for you, and made him talk to you he said he realized you have too gentle heart for being a murderess."

Her chest tightened. So it was also Jaime who had sent Ser Loras to her tower cell when she was imprisoned. "I heard what happened to Ser Loras," Brienne said, "He was an honorable knight and good warrior. I pray for him."

"Young and beautiful, and fool," Lady Olenna shook her head. "I've told him to wait. But he did not listen." She paused a second. "When Jaime leaves for Storm's End?"

She frowned. Jaime was not going to like her talking his plans with Lady Olenna, but she had wanted to talk with him first, and he had refused. "I thought he awaits Tyrell's host to march."

This time it was Lady Olenna who had frowned. "Lord Randyll will march with him, it's already settled. The rest of our forces will stay here until Margaery's trial has finished."

She blushed, this time for different reasons. She did not know that. Her husband seemed to forget to tell her_. And Randyll is coming with us? _ All her good mood soured. _No father deserves to be cursed with such of you. _

Her eyes almost watered, but she willed them off, taking a lemon cake for herself. Margaery took another pie, and as if to wave the sudden spooked air, she leaned again in her seat, "His Grace told me Lord Jaime had jumped into a bear pit to save you. Is it true?"

Brienne almost heaved out a sigh.

They talked about an hour more or so about their wanderings, Brienne trying to keep off the details as much as she could, then they finally excused themselves and left her solar.

Alone, she watched as the sun set in the horizon, coloring a golden hue over the Red Keep, something almost splendid. She wished Jaime was with her.

Draping her cloak over her shoulder, she walked out and started for his apartments, three red cloaks with lion-crested helmets at her tail. Two guardsmen with heavy armor were guarding Jaime's door, as well. Jaime had declined Kingsguard protect him, claiming he was no king. Brienne was also aware that he did not trust his former sworn brothers. The men bowed upon seeing her, and one went inside, and left the room with Peck. "My Lady," the squire opened the door for her then closed it after her.

She liked that he had sent the boy out. She wanted to be alone with him.

Seated behind his desk, he did not lift his eyes from the reports he was reading as she approached him, but she could see he was watching her footsteps. "Good evenings, my good lord husband."

The way she called made him look at her. "Good evenings, my good lady wife." His solemn look weighted her. "I heard you had company today."

_There is no secret in this wretched city._ She nodded. "I am glad you find other's company more joyful than mine," he said curtly, bowing his head again dismissively.

"Jaime, I apologize—" she finally said, "it was not kind of me talking to my husband like that. But—but-they talk with me."

"I _do_ talk with you, too," he said, setting aside the report, his eyes accusing.

She shook her head. "Not since we came here," she said, "I—I know you try to keep me away, keep me safe, but I—I don't like it. I feel…disregarded."

"Disregarded?" Jaime asked, sounding almost surprised.

"Why didn't you tell me Randyll Tarly is to march with us to Storm's End?" she asked back.

He leaned back, that solemn look entering in his eyes again. "I saw the looks you gave to him at the feast. Ser Hyle told me about the rest."

She tilted her head aside. "Did he mention that Lord Randyll had a view of me benefiting from a hard rape?"

Jaime flinched. "Somehow he _did_ forget to mention that."

"When we camped outside the Highgarden with Rainbow Guards," Brienne started to retell, "me being in the camp created some…problems. Lord Randyll was not content." Jaime looked at her in question. "There were bets, regarding who would bed me first. Ser Hyle was one of them."

This time his lips twitched. "I see…"

"Soon it got out of control, men started fighting. And Lord Tarly saw me to blame."

"Why? What did you do?"

"Nothing." She tried to keep her tone neutral, but thinking of those times still hurt, and what Lord Tarly said about her father being cursed with a child such as her… _Words are wind… they cannot hurt, not unless you let them…_ "He thought me just being there is enough."

Jaime sighed. "Well, he was right."

She looked at him with widened eyes. "He was right?" she cried out, voice incredulous and _hurt_. Jaime… Jaime could not mean that. "I did nothing!"

This time he gave a shrug. "You need not. Do you have any idea how hard to command an army? How hard to maintain discipline among all those men? A maid in the middle of soldiers is like a pea under the mattress. Not very prominent, but it keeps you awake."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Good thing then my days as a pea under the mattress has ended."

"Aye…" he said, "Elsewise I'd be a very busy Lord Commander punishing those who dishonors you with such bets." He pinched his nose, shaking his head. "I don't see you as my play thing, Brienne." He paused, "And I'm affronted you thought of me like that."

Blushing, she hid her face. "I know. I never thought you would—force yourself on me." She lifted her head to look at him.

He nodded. "And I don't come to only bed you. I come to be with you. Your company brings me peace." She blushed even further, her heart beating madly, "I'm waiting word from Lord Petyr," he then suddenly remarked.

She wished she had become accustomed his abrupt change of topics, but every time he took her by surprise. "I invited him to the small council," he went on as Brienne tried to follow him, "He's dawdled long enough in the Vale, we need him here. He makes dragons out of thin air."

"But—?" she asked, sensing there was a "but" to come.

"Back at Riverrun I'd asked him if Brynden Tully was seen in the Vale, and he answered no, but I'm having reports of his sighting, then I asked if he could spare a garrison from Vale to march with us, and he said his work in the Vale had not done yet. This time I summoned him back to Small Council, and—"

"And he said no again?" Brienne asked.

He shook his head. "He did not answer."

She thought about it for a second. "You think he's plotting against you?"

"Oh, I am certain he's plotting against _everyone_. That man is a schemer, plotting is of his nature. But since the beginning of the war, he's been loyal to us. If he plans to shift sides now… we need to know. Littlefinger is not someone you would want as your enemy."

"To whom do you think he's within accord?"

He shrugged. "I know not. I daresay Stannis, that Iron Bank agreement stinks of him, but Littlefinger never bets on the losing side. So… there is Tyrells."

"Tyrells?"

He nodded. "Tarly garrison will come with us but the rest of their forces will still stay here. I wanted them to move to Dragonstone to fortify the stronghold but Lord Mace refused, saying he would not leave the city until Margaery was free off all accusations." He paused, his gaze wandering off for a second outside the window of his solar towards the fields of the crimson and blue, "I'm not comfortable leaving them here. I have just taken the control over the small council. If The Vale and The Reach are forging against us, it would not be good."

"But—Tyrells… Margaery already wed to Tommen, she's already the Queen."

"The marriage is still not consummated, unconsummated marriages can be annulled."

"But Golden Company—"

He cut him off, "at Storm's End." He paused, "When the realm is invaded by foreigners, the Great Houses would stop plotting against each other and unite under one flag."

Brienne's eyes widened. "Jaime!" she cried out, "You don't mean it. You cannot wish another war expel to the land only because it would give you a mean to unify your people."

He gave her a hard look again. "If my wishes would be of anyone's concern, Brienne, I'd be back at Rock now, having my ways with my beautiful wife. But as you can see we're neither at Rock, nor I'm having my ways with you. So... it really matters not."

"Well, it matters to me," she said, "My father is waiting in captivity."

"My father waited his _heir_ in captivity for almost a year. Captives wait." She opened her mouth. He shook his head. "I cannot move my forces until I know where all other stones are set," he said, with a finality in his voice.

* * *

_Please, review, and let me what you think, every little word counts, thanks! :)_


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N: Attention. I'm updating **six **chapters at once, so don't get confused. Enjoy._

Chapter Nineteen

_Jaime:_

As they rode at the foot of Visenya's Hill, the smells of Guildhall of the Alchemists assaulted his sense, sulphur and the substance's other secret ingredients smeared in the dark narrow streets, making him remember the times he wished to forget. The Street of Sisters gleamed brightly to his left in conflict with Alchemists' Street, and the lofty great dome of glass, gold and crystal of Great Sept of Baelor shone in the waning sunlight, mixing two different worlds together. They had taken one of the main roads from Red Keep to the Great Sept because Jaime was not taking any chances with this High Sparrow. Each day men from villages or towns came flocking in the city by dozens, to join up the Warrior's Son. Winter was coming and there was always bread and cheese for Brothers in the septs_. If they keep coming like this, soon The High Septon will have one of the largest armies in Westeros_. And with only one objection; making sure everyone in the known world follow and protect the Seven as they deemed it. _Gods, I hate politics._

The words that were echoed in his mind came to him ironic, looking how he stood now, Lord Regent, Protector of the Realm. _I do need to establish a proper household here_, he thought then, his mood souring further. Even after he marched to Storm's End, he needed to come back here. After the news any hope he had ever had returning to Casterly Rock had diminished. _Brienne will hate it. _She probably would also hate Casterly Rock, so Jaime was not very torn about it.

As they arrived to the white marble plaza, he saw a grey figure on the raised marble pulpit around the doors leading into the sept. He pulled the reins to his chest, wheeling Honor, stopped at the steps. He dismounted and gave the reins to one of guardsmen and started climbing up toward the Father's Door. He needed to talk with this sparrow. He could delay it no longer. To unravel the mystery of the last days, he first needed to send the remaining Tyrell host to Dragonstone, he needed Margaery and Tommen starting sharing the same bed even if nothing would happen, and he would not have those needs done as long as Margaery was to wait for her trail.

He was not worried go into the Sept, at least not for himself. The incest accusation regarding Cersei was already dropped before the High Septon accepted to denounce his vows as Jaime had expected. He had no reason not to go, but every reason to go… trials had to be done—quickly and swiftly, much damage had been done. Worse, Brothers had also started with atonements with smallfolk, too, each day someone was walking in the streets naked, a septa ringing bells, armed brothers circling the accused, rings of "shame" echoing in the air. The parade made him shudder as he thought of Cersei enduring that, and he almost pitied her again…until he remembered she was the main reason of it.

Truth be told, Jaime had expected more fight from Cersei, especially after their confrontation, but none had come. She was either planning some treachery again silently or she was really subsided. Somehow he was thinking of the latter. She looked like something in her waned, her fire quenched. From every inn at every street in the city, her naked body was the talks of the smallfolk, her aging flesh, sagging breasts. These blows might have come at her even harder than the shame she had had to endure walking naked. No, Cersei more than anything had always reveled in her beauty, trusted her good look, and those japes might have hurt her more than thousands blades. _A lion does not matter the sheep's opinion as long as the lion is young and proud_. He would know, because he had felt the same blow after he had lost his sword hand, ten folds worse.

His face set in a grimace, he stood before the heavy double oak doors and watched the man in white simple wool robes stepped down from raised pulpit and walked towards him. His feet were bare, black and calloused like he had not wore a boot since a very long time, his head almost bald, walking slowly, limping away, but his eyes glinting. A zealot, Jaime recognized at the first glance. Nothing was more dangerous than a zealot armed. They had nothing to lose, no lands, no men, no women but only one thing to gain, Gods' favor. _Sweet sister, what were you thinking? _He asked himself not the first time, and it appeared it would not be the last, either. "Lord Protector," the older man greeted him, "If we know of your coming, we would send His Grace an escort."

Jaime smiled at the man sweetly. "Why, I have my own men, your Holiness."

"High Sparrow," the man corrected, his soft voice having steel in it. _He has a ruler voice._ "They call me High Sparrow in jest, as if the words would hurt me."

Jaime bowed his head, "Words are wind," he intoned, pushing the doors open and entered in. The sept-proper was as it always had been, seven broad marble aisles under the great crystal dome, candles lit, sunlight glinting above and from colored glass windows. He had been a while since he was the last time he was inside, since his father's funeral. He turned away from the memory and looked for the older man.

"Your Grace," the holy man started politely but with a hint of displeasure coloring his tone, openly as if he did not mind him, "may we learn the purpose of your visit?" The sun setting, he led Jaime away from the doors as loyal followers came inside the sept for evening prayers.

Jaime stopped at great aisle that sat on Warrior's feet, the tip of the long marble's sword between. High Sparrow looked at him curiously, "Are you a son of the Warrior, Your Grace?"

_The Warrior stands before the foe, _

_protecting us where e'er we go. _

_With sword and shield and spear and bow, _

_he guards the little children…_

Jaime thought of The Song. Even though he was not strong in Faith, he had always favored Warrior, he was always a warrior first… _I thought that was all I would ever be. Now I am a wed man…_ Suddenly he wondered if any of his seeds had quickened in Brienne's womb. A trueborn son_… When that happens I will be a father, a real one._ The thought, the sudden realization sent a shiver down over his spine. Then he swore, _I will hold it in my arms this time. _He turned to the older man. "Golden Company landed on Storm's End," he started. High Septon or not, Jaime had no desires to discuss his faith with the man.

"So we heard, my Lord Regent," the holy man confirmed, "We also heard that they claimed it in the name of Aegon Targaryen, the dragon king."

"_False_ dragon," Jaime hissed, anger almost tingling in his fist. There were times no man, holy or not would have dared to call the boy with that name, no man would have called it at his father's face, as well. He had best remember it. He was not Tywin Lannister yet. He did not know anymore if he would feel relief or concern with that fact.

The High Sparrow bowed his head in silence, but did not remark. The simple gesture worried him more than anything_. He's just toying me, _he reflected, but the suspicion was a strong seed once it was sown. If the Seven would back the boy as the true heir to Iron Throne, the smallfolk would weight the words more solemnly. _You got the permit for your armed zealots from Cersei, little weasel man, playing on her fear. You won't get anything from me. _"Tyrell army needs to move to the Dragonstone, but they still insist to wait for Margaery Tyrell's trail."

"Why? If the girl is innocent as she claims to be, the Gods will favor her."

Jaime pursed his lips with disinterest. "A daughter is a daughter to a father, what she is matter not."

"Even if it's treachery?"

Jaime gave the old zealot a hard look. "The realm needs the trials done." _I want the trials done._ "Now."

Despite his own suspicions, he was still Tywin Lannister'son, Lord of the Casterly Rock, and Protector of the Realm. He left the rest unsaid, but he knew the High Sparrow understood it nevertheless. His god was the Warrior, like always. "The realm stands on two pillars, Crown and Faith," the old man told him back, "Whatever the Realm needs, Faith always there to provide it. Within a fortnight, we will hold the trials."

Giving the man a curt nod, he turned around to walk out_. I need to find a way to demolish these mad zealots… before they do it to us._

Once he arrived at Maegor's Holdfast, he sought out Brienne. She was walking in the gardens with Ser Hyle, Podrick just behind her, and three red cloaks trailing a few feet behind them. It was an odd company and the rumors how his lady wife was always circled with men had already started, but Jaime paid them no heed. She seemed to be more comfortable with the company of men than ladies and he did not want to upset her further. He did not like Ser Hyle in her vicinity since he had learned about the bets but Brienne didn't seem to mind it, so he willed himself the same. _I still want to crush his head,_ he thought watching the man laughing at something Brienne had said.

Then he stopped… Was that a flirting? If he did not know Brienne, he would have said…yes. The way she gave the man a side glance, the quick look under her lashes… _My mind is playing with me. I'm too distressed in this cursed city._ Brienne would not flirt with anyone, she didn't even know how. He walked to them with a powerful stride. Brienne's lips moved into a closed lips smile upon seeing him, but he stood in front of the hedge knight.

"Ser Hyle, you're to join the search for Byrden Tully in Vale," he ordered briskly, "A party will leave tonight. Report to Ser Coster." He had decided to make another party to look over the things in Vale, and perhaps it would be better if he indeed heeded the rumors.

Ser Hyle looked at him with wide eyes. "Your Grace—" he started, but he took Brienne's elbow and started walking away.

"Jaime—" Brienne exclaimed when they were alone and out of earshot of the guardsmen, "Why did you do it? Ser Hyle is one of the only men I know here."

Twisting his head, Jaime gave her a look. "I did _not_ know you favor his company this highly, my lady. What did you tell him that he found so funny?"

Brienne faltered on her steps, and her eyes found his. The look she directed at him was searching. "Jaime… are you… jealous?" There was hesitancy in her voice, as if she could not believe it. _Am I?_ he asked himself, _am I jealous? _His jaw clenched_. You were flirting with him._

"He seems to be always around you these days," he observed.

Brienne ran her eyes away. "Queen Margaery told me so, as well," she murmured.

His expression turned to stone. "_Did_ she?"

She shrugged, "I did not notice," she said, turning to him again, then gave him a small smile. "You _are_ jealous."

He took her arm again, and started walking. The smell of roses was poignant in the gardens. From everywhere Tyrells were cornering him, even with Brienne. "You are my wife. I cannot have rumors regarding you. Tell me, are you drinking moon tea?"

His abrupt question reddened her cheeks. He liked to see it. He liked that Brienne, the loyal maiden who could blush as feverishly as she could wield a sword. His Brienne. "No—no…" she stammered, "Why do you ask?"

"It's almost three moons now we share the same bed, and you're still bleeding… I—wondered."

Her cheeks still red, she nodded. "Sometimes… it takes time."

"Aye…" He nodded. It took almost two years before his father's seed quickened in his mother's womb. Not everyone's seed was as strong as Edmure Tully's. It was a bitter thought.

Brienne searched his eyes. "Jaime—" she asked in hesitance, "do you wish me to?"

Jaime thought of her question, feeling heartsick and weary. "A father has to keep his children safe," he muttered in a soft voice. He recalled the Warrior's Song… _With sword and shield and spear and bow, he guards the little children… _The Warrior might guard the little children with sword and shield and spear and bow, but Jaime Lannister apparently could not. Even though he knew Cersei's children were only of his seeds, he still felt responsible. Admitting Joffrey's death was easier, whether the killer was Tyrion or not, Joff had brought it on himself, but sweet Myrcella… He had been trying not to think of the fate had befallen on her, but every time he thought about it, something in him was reeling. He was glad she could at least survive the attack on her life but… He could declare an open war to Dorne, even if they were innocent in this treachery as Myrcella had sworn to them in her letter, Dorne had let that happen. Consequences must be felt, but he could not start another war. He wondered if his reaction would have been the same if she was truly his daughter, a trueborn daughter. The answer turned his blood to cold. His face setting, he looked at Brienne. "When Myrcella comes back, she will have a hard time in court." He did not tell her the reason, because it was not needed, because Brienne already knew, "Can you help her?" Wordlessly, Brienne nodded. "And drink the tea," he added before he walked away. _I am not the Warrior, I am just a man._

Myrcella never returned. The twenty-second day of the eight moon of the year of 300 AC, at the first year of the rule of King Tommen, Ser Balon Swann stood before the aisle, distraught and alone, and told them… "She… she was turning inside more and more each day… was keeping her own company, afraid of people would see her face." Cersei was weeping, silently, but there was a fire again lit in her green eyes. "I found her at the tenth day of the journey," Ser Balon continued, his tone faltering, "She was abed…in a pool of blood… her wrists cut open."

Cersei gave out a heart wrenching shriek and dropped on her knees. Jaime's hand trembled, his head turning… he wanted to drop on his knees as well, and weep. His grabbed the blades of the Iron Throne where he sat and he tightened his grip. Blood colored metal under his skin. He felt Brienne's light touch on his shoulders but he did not look away. Ser Balon took a step forward on the aisle, and handed out a paper with blood stains towards him. "I—I found this in her hand."

Jaime took the paper and unrolled it… _"I am sorry. Please, forgive me. I cannot come back."_

He took in a deep breath. "Where is her Dornish escort?" he questioned, his voice tight in his throat, almost recognizable. His sweet child… his sweet daughter. She did not deserve this to leave this world like this. She did not deserve to die like this.

"Nymera Sand turned back to Dorne when she learnt what happened. They landed me in a trading galley to inform you, but she turned back."

Jaime nodded. She did the best thing. If Oberyn's bastard was here, he did not know what he could have done. Cersei was looking at him intently, eyes glistened with tears but still burning with fire. With vengeance. He ignored her. _I am not the Warrior. I am just a man… a man who tries to keep the peace… _"Prepare the funeral. I want you stand vigil at her side."

Ser Balon suddenly looked torn. "She… she's committed suicide," the man muttered out, his voice barely audible, "She is not one of the Faith now. We cannot stand vigil."

Before he could do anything, Cersei jumped on the Kingsguard with a shriek, her hands on his throat, her eyes mad with fury.

At the end, no one stood vigil at her side. They could not take her in the Great Sept either for the ceremony, but prepared her on her own childhood bed, her golden hair adorned with white followers, a white veil over her face. She was beautiful, her sweet child…she was still beautiful to him, no matter what.

Cersei had ceased to cry. Sitting on her side, she looked carved out stone, a pale figure in the mourning blacks, though her green eyes were still glinting with fire. It reminded him wildfire. "This's the Imp's fault, he sent her Dorne. I told him not," Cersei spoke with a voice barely audible as he stood still on her bedside, standing vigil. No one else but him. His daughter _still_ had him. Jaime did not answer.

"And you set the Imp free," she continued, her voice a hiss. There was hatred in it now, a malice Jaime had _never_ heard directed at him before.

"Tyrion is miles away from here. He could not do this."

"His plan, his fault," she seethed, "I want revenge."

His head snapped at her. "Do you want me to kill Tyrion or Prince Doran?"

She gave him a seething look. "Both. All of them. I want you to kill _all_ who wronged us, who hurt us, maimed us, poisoned us, dishonored us…" She shook her head, "But I expect it's too much to ask from our Lord Protector now."

The anger swept over him like a wave. "Do you wish to find someone to blame?" He hissed at her, "Look nowhere far away than in a looking glass. Myrcella chose death over coming back to here. Do you wonder _why_?" He bent and yanked off the veil over her face. "Even now you covered her with a veil. She knew what would happen once she came back." He threw the veil away. "And she could not bear that."

He whirled on his heel, and started walking out. He could not stay here… and wait with Cersei… _Myrcella, sweet child, please forgive me…_

Cersei gave out a shriek after him… "Jaime! Do not walk away from me!" He did not turn. "You will pay for this, I swear, you will pay for this," she yelled after him, "I will burn the heart out of you, you hear me!"

The blood in his vein turning to ice, Jaime did hear her.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty:

_Brienne:_

It was a creak of the wood that had Brienne put off the dreamlands, a soft groan of timber as Jaime shifted his weight on the feather mattress and slipped out of the bed. Her eyes still shut closed, Brienne pretended not to notice. Sleep did not come easily these days to him. Each night he was leaving the bed with a soft cracking, sleep eluding him. There, stood by the long narrow window, he watched the darkened world, what he thought Brienne did not know for she was afraid to ask.

Almost a fortnight had passed since they had learned Myrcella's fate. Jaime had grown…distant. Brienne knew how much meant his daughter to him, but she also knew he never thought of them as his own children, not of his seeds, but of his family. Brienne's heart ached for the little girl as well, everyone was saying the same thing; she was a sweetling, nothing of her mother's nature but only her looks, but it did not matter to Brienne for she was only an innocent young girl. _War always hurt the innocent most._ It pained her to think she dreaded so much returning to her home that she chose ending her life, but then she recalled what Randyll Tarly had told her… Could the nobleman would have said the same thing for the young princess she wondered. _Life is unfair,_ she reflected, _the sweet girl passed away when Randyll Tarly still breathes. Jaime is right, gods are cruel._

Slowly her eyes sought him. He was still standing by the narrow window, his back tensed and rigid, as if he was made of steel, and even though she could not see his face, Brienne knew it was of stone. Earlier in the night Margaery's trial was held. The younger queen had claimed that she used moon tea for moon blood irregularities and when other maesters confirmed that the tea would be used for that occasion too, the only real proof against her was dismissed. Brienne returned her chambers, feeling somewhat relieved. She could not be certain if Margaery's claim was true, but nevertheless she was glad. Too much death she had seen, and it felt wrong to punish her for something no one really would know in truth.

Later in night Jaime asked for her. The invitation took her by surprise, but she reflected he must feel better now that Tyrells excuse for staying in the city did longer exist so they would leave for Dragonstone as he wished. The thought cheered her but there was no happiness over Jaime's face when she saw him, only a solemn hard look as he watched her stepping inside. Then she remembered there was still Cersei's trial at the following night. Jaime walked to her, then took her in his arms and kissed her, leading her toward the bed. And without knowing what else to do, Brienne let him, and hoped that her body would give him the solace he craved for. He could not tell it in words anymore, Brienne did not need to hear it. She could feel it. She could not fight with his enemies or erase his pain but she could at least do that much for him, for all the things he had done for her. She wondered briefly as she was falling on the bed if that was…love… the sort of giving way she also had felt for Renly… it was different what she had felt before, that inescapable, inevitable craze…but right now as she watched him lying in the bed without a sound, she felt so helpless and he seemed so unreachable… "Still thinking so loudly," she suddenly heard him speaking, his back still on her, but catching her gaze.

She reddened. "The night is still young. You should go back to sleep. You have not slept well since…" Her words stopped as she realized what she was saying.

"Since Myrcella's death, yes," Jaime concluded for her, his voice plain as if only he was stating a known well truth, "My nights have not been cheerful for a long time," he accepted.

She raised and sat on the edge of the bed. "If you're in distress because you sister's trail for—"

Turning to her, he cut her off, "Do you think I'm troubled for Cersei?"

She looked at him in the eyes, and hoped that it did not show off how much what she said hurting her, "She's still your family, and mother of your children."

His eyes moved away from her, looking outside for a hairbreadth, and then he admitted, "Tommen would be devastated if he lost his mother, too."

Brienne nodded. "He's lost already a brother, a sister, a fat—" she stopped in the words again.

And he completed for her again, "A father, yes. He already lost his father." There was bitterness in his voice now. For a moment, she imagined them as a perfect family, smiling and looking at each other lovingly. _I begged her to wed me, no matter what…_ She had wondered if he still…felt for Cersei before but the answer was in plain sight at her now. "The last time we spoke to each other," but Jaime continued, "Cersei swore she was going to burn the heart out of me. She blames me for Myrcella's death."

"She's a mother in mourning," Brienne said, "You should excuse her harsh words."

Jaime shook his head. "Would that I could," he said, his eyes skipping to side again, the winter air was heavy and moist even behind the window. "Do you recall the dream I had on the way?" he asked, "She'd told me the very same in my dream, Brienne, she told me she would burn the heart out of me."

Brienne shuddered. She did remember. She remembered how terrified he woke up, how tight he kept her in his arms… "Jaime… it…it was just a dream," she mumbled out what he had told himself, but even her voice was failing.

"When I dreamed you before I turned back for you in Harrenhal…we were in a cave and you asked me if there were bears down there," he confessed.

Brienne shuddered again. It sounded quite like a foreshadowing. Could Jaime have foretold what had happened in the bear pit? The legends were full of them, Daenys the Dreamer foretelling the Doom of the Valyria, the old song Jenny of the Oldstones, Lord Evenstar's demise… the legends were foretold every time, yet… she could not bring herself to believe it. "There must be an explanation," she said, walking to him. "Have you talked with maesters?" Pycrella dead, the Citadel sent three new maesters. He could try to find answers from at least one of them. They would know.

Jaime shook his head. "No. You're the only one who knows."

Something in her chest swelled, making it hard to breathe. She stopped at his side and touched lightly at his arm, then took his hand. "You worry too much," she whispered at him, "Come back to bed."

She would give him solace, made him forget all even for a while, that much at least she could do for him. But Jaime did not move, only looked at her… "I need you to stay in King's Landing, Brienne," he then told her.

Her hand dropped off his. "No." She could not… he could not ask that from her… She could…not…stay behind.

"It's safer this way."

"Safer? You make Pia prepare my food every day for you do not trust anyone else, and still make Peck taste it before I eat. Three men guard my door and still you had me hide a dagger under my sleeve. How would I be safer here, Jaime?" Without you, she would have added but she did not. She felt betrayed. Her father was a captive, and he was asking her to stay and have tea parties.

"It's already decided after her trial Cersei is to leave for Casterly Rock. I saw Faith's Champion, a gaunt, brawny man but he could not best Ser Robert in anything. Cersei is already a free woman walking. After she leaves, you'll be safer." She wondered how long he had been planning on this. Somehow she felt it was not only because of the dream he saw, but he really decided it would be best if she was sent back.

And it hurt too much. "You said you would never leave me behind," she told him, her voice accusing, and at the edge of tears. She felt her eyes burning. Why it hurt so much?

He shook his head. "I'm not leaving you behind. I'm trying to protect you."

Burning turned to anger. "I don't need protection! I can still wield my sword, my lord. I marched with armies before lest you forgot it."

Displeasure colored his face as his brows pulled into a frown. "I have not forgotten, my lady. You marched with armies before as an unwed maid. As my lady wife, your place is—"

"—at your side—" Brienne cut him, but Jaime shook his head.

"Where I command. And I command you stay here in King's Landing."

Wordlessly, she whirled and walked toward her cloak. She draped it over her nakedness and started for the door. "Brienne—" he called after her before she opened the door, "I have got more than one thousand knights and five thousands men-at-arms afoot. I have got two thousands mounted lances, one thousand freeriders and footmen with spikes, but only one wife. You're far more precious for me to risk that way."

_Far more precious for me_… she felt her tears running… Why she always had to feel torn? She wanted to be his wife, she chose to be his wife, and she was precious to him… she was the only one… the emotions and thoughts swirled inside her like a whirlpool and she was caught in it, drawing into the center… inescapable, unavoidable, inevitable… He walked to her and took her at her upper arms. His eyes were burning green when he looked at her, "You need to fight your own battles no more for you have me now. I'll take back your home. I'll save your father. I will always protect you, or die trying if needs be. Because you're my wife, and because I love you."

The words undid her. Tears shining in her eyes, she understood for how long she had been waiting to hear him saying it, so long… It must have been love, it still frightened her, but she must love him back for he was far more precious for her too. She'd chosen him, even it meant an innocent's perish, she had chosen _him_. She opened her mouth to tell him but words still eluded her. So she lifted her head slightly and kissed him instead.

He took her in his arms and carried her back to bed. He had her in silence, but his eyes were affixed on hers as he moved in her slowly. When they finished, he rolled off over her, only slightest, pressing her at his side before he fell asleep. _I love him,_ she thought to herself before she followed him. On the morrow, when she woke up, he had already left his chambers.

They walked between ten guardsmen to the tourney ground on the following midday. He looked not aught like the man night before, the man who had confessed his love for her. He was looking intently ahead as they marched to the royal pavilion, ignoring everyone else around him, including her. There were others in the cortege, Queen Margaery, now as a free woman accompanied by his father Lord Mace Tyrell, and Lord Randyll Tarly, and the rest of the small council. In the middle of the cortege, Queen Mother herself in all of her cold demeanor in mourning blacks with her champion Ser Robert a scant foot away from her. _I will burn the heart out of you,_ Brienne thought, surpassing a tremble.

She faltered on her steps, and fell beside Qyburn. She cast a quick glance around, and saw no one was in earshot. "Qyburn," she called out, dropping her voice into a whisper, "Dreams… can they be foretelling?"

Qyburn gave her a side glance, a knowing look. "Prophetic dreams?" the former maester asked her back, "Some would say no, some would say yes, it depends on how you define…foretelling, my lady. Foretold is seldom forewarned. I saw a red dawn this morrow, some would say that it's a harbinger of bad deeds, some would say it's just sun rising."

She gave her a shake of head. "I am not asking old midwife superstitions, I am asking of dreams could be anything but dreams."

Qyburn gave her another side glance. "It's said the old blood dream what is past and what is yet to pass... Targaryens and Starks, and far in Asshai there are even some mages who would foretell by blood… but blood magic is a deep, dark thing, so it is told." Yet when he told it, there was a gleam in his eyes, a keen interest. Brienne's face hardened. His eyes searched her keenly. "Are dreams troubling you, my lady? If so, I would give you a shade of the milk of the poppy."

"No. I'm just…" she faltered.

Qyburn gave her a full look this time. "Frightened?" the old man asked, "Then I would advise naught but a husband's sheltering arms, my lady."

Brienne almost reddened as Qyburn picked up his pace, leaving her behind. As they seated on the aisle under the pavilion, Jaime glanced at her side. "What did you talk with Qyburn?" he questioned.

She bowed her head slightly, ashamed that she was caught. "I—I asked him about…dreams." His face soured. "I—I did not tell him anything," she quickly added.

He nodded, giving her a look. "When the combat is done, we'll talk, I promise."

Heat covering her, she wondered if he meant more than just his dream, but the _other_ thing… yet still she felt there was something she was missing. Cersei's words… even if it was a forewarning, they would never disturb him this much, he had been expecting her wrath since the beginning. There must be something else, something he did not want to tell her. He was really scared when he had wakened from that dream. Ser Robert and the champion of the Faith Militant entered into arena, interrupting her thoughts. The knight of the Faith had a gaunt look, and brawny stout build, but he was nowhere near to Ser Robert. Jaime was right on that part. That man could not best Ser Robert in anything. Cersei Lannister was a free woman, as Jaime declared it.

Both knights walked without any fanfare towards them, then bowed their heads with a curt curtsy at Jaime. Jaime had not allowed Tommen to come, and Brienne was glad. This fight was no place for a child, even though the said child was a king.

The fight, though, finished as quickly as it had started. The Champion of the Faith had only one shot at thrusting his sword at Ser Robert, before the mountain of a man caught it with his own, and holding the other man with his other arm, he closed his hand around his throat, tightening his finger on his windpipe, rising the man up in the air in the meanwhile, his other hand still holding the sword, then broke his neck and threw his dead body away like a sack.

A million gasps of shock filled in tourney ground from the spectaculars then all fell in silence. With a smug but cold cutting smile, Cersei rose from her seat, and her eyes found Jaime's eyes. "The gods are just, brother," she told him.

Jaime sprung on his feet. "Enjoy your freedom, sister."

He turned around to walk down, but stopped when he understood Brienne did not follow him. Pivoting his body aside, he merely looked at her. Brienne felt all eyes were looking at them, especially Randyll Tarly's. If she was to stay in King's Landing, she was at least glad that she did not need to see his face any longer. Keeping her head high, she stood up and went to Jaime. He took her hand and they started towards the Maegor's Holdfast, his guardsmen behind them. Once in his apartments, Jaime opened the door to his solar and ordered Peck to stay out as well.

"What did Qyburn tell?" Jaime asked, as he went to his wine drawer to pour them drinks. His left hand was steady as he filled two wine cups, as if he had ever used his left hand all in his life.

"He told me the old blood sometimes have this kind of power for foretelling, Targaryens and Starks…"

"Lannister does not have dragon blood or wolf blood," he snapped curtly.

Brienne shook her shoulders. "I know. It's what he said. Lannisters are also of old blood," she reminded him, as for all the other Great Houses.

Jaime nodded, offering her the wine cup. "Of the Lann the Clever, the legendary hero of the Age of Heroes," he remarked, "Though I never heard of him foretelling anything. He was merely a man of tricks."

Brienne took a sip from the cup. Wine was as sweet as red plums, flavored with cinnamon; she wondered idly how costly it must be. "He also said there is a kind of blood magic…in Far East."

Jaime nodded, taking a sip from his cup, a frown above his brow deepening the crease over his forehead, face lost in thoughts. "Jaime—what's that you really saw in your dream?"

He twisted aside, casting a look outside, and confirming her suspicions. "I told you. I saw Rhaegar. He told me I swore to protect his child."

She shook her head, now certain that he was hiding something. "You are not telling me everything," she told him, almost accusingly, "There is something else."

He turned to her. "I've told more than you have, Brienne." He walked toward her, his eyes holding a pointed look. "Is it really that hard you cannot say it back?"

Caught off-guard, her heart started beating wildly, but she did not let him steer her from the topic, not this time. "What is it? Why do you not want to tell me?"

"Why do _you_ not want to tell me?"

She sucked in a breath. "I'm frightened. It frightens me. The way…I feel…"

"_How_ do you feel?"

"It's different than what I felt for Renly—"

"_Renly_?" he spat out his name.

"It feels... inevitable, unavoidable, unescapable…like I am drawn into it no matter what…"

He let out a cracked voice, a bitter laugh, "Inevitable, unavoidable, unescapable… Isn't that how prophecies are?"

She felt a sudden terror, realizing how true he was. "Yes. It's my fate, something I cannot escape. I love you." She looked at him in the eyes, and her voice trembled as she asked, "Tell me. What did you dream?"

"I dreamt of you, Brienne…dying…"


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty One:

Jaime:

"Come, Brienne," Jaime called her, where they sat at his round table beside the balcony, taking a sip from his wine, "My brother used to say there is no blow that would have not been softened by a pitcher of wine."

When he finally had told her what he had dreamt, Brienne looked at him for a long while, speechless, words died on her lips. He walked to his wine cabinet again, and took the pitcher to the round table and sitting, he poured himself another drink. Brienne looked at her own cup in her hands, only half empty, then brought it to her lips, and drunk it all in one gulp. She then walked to him, and seated next to him, holding the cup to him.

He filled her cup. "I was holding a burning sword," he started retelling, "and Thoros of Myr was there too with Rhaegar. Rhaegar was telling me I swore to protect his son as Thoros told me to look in the flames. I looked at flames in the sword. You were there, lying in the snow, under a weirwood tree…in a pool of blood."

Brienne swallowed, and took another sip from her wine. "That's why you wanted me to stay?" she asked, "Are you afraid that someone might kill me in the war?"

Jaime heaved out a sigh. She had told him she loved him. He finally heard it from her lips, but he was now sitting here instead of taking her in his arms, discussing her possible death. "It was a stab wound in your chest, by a sword."

She frowned. "You said I was lying under a weirwood tree. There are no weirwoods in East, they cut down them thousands years ago. The only weirwoods are—"

"—are around at Isle of Gods," Jaime completed for her, "Yes. It's also where I had the dream. Like how I dreamt of you before. That night I also fell asleep on the stumps of a weirwood, close to Isle of Gods."

"Do you—do you think those trees cause these dreams?"

Jaime shrugged. "I do not know," he admitted, "In North, I heard Northmen call their likes gods' tree, and with those blood red faces…I do not know," he repeated again. He paused, and slowly confessed again, "Before I sent him away to the Wall, Thoros of Myr told me before the end came, we would see each other again."

Brienne took in a sharp breath. "Do—do you think to ride to North?"

Something—something was happening there, he could not say what it was, but he felt it. But his place was here, where his people needed him. "No. My place is with my House. Stormlands must needs be reclaimed in the name of the King."

Brienne nodded, trailing her finger along the edge of the cup, and for a moment, he did not want anything else than taking her in his arms and fuck her like they were the only ones mattered in the world. He wished the simplicity of the apple tree, where she rested her head on his shoulders, snugging against his chest… her words merely a whisper as she thanked him for everything. _It's my fate, something I cannot escape._

Was it really how she felt for him? Not something she would welcome gratefully but something she needed to grudgingly surrender for she could not escape. He knew she felt torn, but… He recalled his thoughts before they had left Riverrun. So she had _really_ thought of Renly, comparing him to the dead man. And it was _of course_ butterflies and rainbows with the cocksucker, something she could accept willingly, easily. For him, it was only dread. His face souring, he took a big gulp from his cup, mostly not to break it. The notion should have not angered him, he _knew_ her feelings, but it did. She was his, his wife… no one else. "What you feel for me…" he turned to her, keeping the annoyance barely contained in his voice, "Why does it frighten you this much?"

Her head snapped up at him, caught surprised. Her big blue eyes widened, she looked at him with the same expression he had seen at her every time whilst struggling for words. The sight of her quenched the anger in him, and he felt heartsick, weary. "I am sorry you feel this way, Brienne," he told her, standing up, suddenly feeling he could not look at her any longer, "I'm sorry I am not Renly."

Her hands grabbed his golden hand. He stopped at his tracks. Still sitting, she lifted her head up at him, looking at his eyes directly. "I don't want Renly. I want no one but you, Jaime. I want you. I love you. It frightens me, but I have never felt this…_alive_ before." She rose from her seat. "Sometimes I wonder if I ever really existed before I felt you inside me."

After that, there was only one thing he could do. He grabbed her, and started carrying her to the bed, already kissing. A wise man should have been frightened too, he understood, but Jaime had never been that man.

A knock came from the oak door, and but Jaime did not heed it. He could not. Whatever it was, it should wait for he could not leave her, not yet. Another knock, this time heavier, more urgent. Jaime cursed, but kept up his pace as he rode her. The sounds they made… they must hear them… Jaime did not care to keep silent, and Brienne could not help herself... Third knock and another followed… Jaime let out a grunt, riding her faster… "Jaime—" Brienne breathed out between moans, "—door."

The drumming was a distant song in his ear. "Don't care," he hissed, as he slammed back in her, coming forward on her with his weight, pushing her legs over herself. _How do you feel now, wench? _She let out a scream as she clenched around him tightly inside, but it was not enough, she had never really existed before she felt him inside… and he had to go deeper, deepest…where no one but he could reach. _I love you. _He hastened his pace, going deeper and faster, and he knew her screams would now be heard without a doubt from the other side of the door, and he was pleased, pleased that they knew…they knew that it was _him_ making Brienne of Tarth—his wife scream, nothing something he needed to hide or be quiet, or ashamed of.

He finished, shuddering in her, emptying himself in her depths, then rolled off her. The thuds on the door were silenced. Jaime wondered as he came around if they were still waiting. He did not need to wait long to find the answer, the sudden silence save their hard breathing broke with a heavy thud, and Jaime this time stood up, pulling the fur blankets over Brienne's nakedness and shifted into his woolen robe. "_Do_ come in," he called out in a weary voice.

Peck's head appeared behind the door. "Your…Grace," the squire addressed him hesitantly, his eyes not leaving him not to steal a glance at Brienne. She covered herself until her neck, but the look she carried and the screams she bore just a couple of minutes ago were enough to color the boy red in shame. "Lord Randyll Tarly is without, and wishes to see you at once. I told him you're not to be disturbed in your solace but—but he—_insists_."

So, it was Randyll Tarly. The thought gave him another burst of satisfaction; best the man know how Lady Brienne was taken by her husband, with such a lustful vigor that had turned Jaime Lannister into a wild man. But Brienne turned to a darker shade of red upon hearing the man's name, pulling the blankets further over her chin. "Take him to the solar," Jaime ordered, "I'll see him in a minute."

Peck closed the door behind him, and Jaime walked back to the bed. He bent over Brienne and gave a kiss on her temple. He liked kissing her there, affectionate and tender, like in the songs, it made him feel like…a true knight. "I'll talk to him and learn what's having this urgency that he cannot leave me with my wife in peace." The perils that they faced seemed distant now, as if his dream had happened in another life time, as if he had not lost his daughter a fortnight past, as if he was not to leave her in a couple of weeks. It was a pretense, his dream was as chillingly real as before, Mycrella was still dead, and soon he would leave for another battle, would soon break yet another oath…but here right now, with Brienne, he could pretend, at least for a little while.

He gave her another kiss, keeping his lips on her forehead for a second longer then he stood up. "I will come back," he told her as he walked to the solar. _I always come back to you, Brienne. Always._

Lord Randyll was waiting in the solar, a cross look over his face, and Jaime knew as soon he took a foot inside it was not because he had made the older man wait for him. There was dismay all over his face, together with his cross expression. "What happened, my lord?" Jaime asked. He did not have time for smalltalk.

"Messengers arrived from North, Your Grace. You must needs attend to the small council at once."

Jaime's expressions soured as well. "What happened?" he repeated.

"It's Winterfell. Stark's taken the castle back. And—Vale," Randyll paused for a second, "Lord Petyr swore allegiance to Starks."

Jaime heaved out a weary sigh. He wished he could say he did not see that coming.

Once he walked in the small council chambers, they all were waiting for him. In addition to the member of small council, cousin Devan sat as the commander of the host at the other side of the table, where three other men-at-arms waited afoot. They were not clad in Lannister's red but a soft brown, a black and white boar emblem on their chests. Lyle Crakehall's men. Jaime could see road stains all over their garments, and their faces and hands were caked with dirt as if they had not bathed for a long time. They must have attended to the council at once. Jaime walked to the head table and sat.

"The couriers came ere the morrow," Devan started, "When the Winterfell fell, they started riding south."

Jaime looked at the men. "Where is Strongboar?" he inquired.

One the men, the tallest one, bowed his head. "Fell, Your Grace," he answered, "Before the castle was retaken."

Jaime nodded, a dab of sadness coming to him. He was still losing good men in the war. Lyle Crakehall was not the first one, and he would not be the last, either. "Tell me what happened."

"A moon past, words came that Stannis Baratheon's army started marching to Winterfell with wildings and sellswords. Lord Bolton was expecting him." He paused, "We had heard Ned Stark's bastard son rode with Stannis's host, and they were trying to gain support of Northmen again. There is no lost love for Boltons in the North, Your Grace, for he'd allied with Lannisters."

Jaime smiled at that. "There is no love for wildings in the North, and Starks allied with them."

The man nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. Lord Lyle was telling that Lord Bolton has been trusting on that." He paused, "They arrived at the castle, a host of ten thousand with a scant number of knights, but wildings fought as fierce as Northmen. Still, Lord Bolton prevailed. Arya Stark as their hostage bride he even managed to hold his bannermen bound to him."

Jaime suppressed a smile. Did _anyone_ know Arya Stark in the North? "So how come they lost Winterfell?" Devan asked, irritated.

The tall man, the leader, shuddered. "When the battle began, we thought they could not win," he admitted, "Stannis's loyal bannermen were few, and sellswords were sellswords, and wildings—even though they fight fiercely, they lack discipline. But…the Stark bastard…he still managed to keep them in line. And Lord Ramsay…Lord Bolton's own bastard—"

"Lord Ramsay is no bastard," Randyll Tarly cut him off with a crisp voice, "He's a trueborn son by royal degree."

"Yes, my lord, my pardons, but up in the North people do no know it. They even dubbed the battle as Battle of Bastards."

Jaime gave out a bitter smile. "It's a nice ring in it," he said, "But I thought this Stark bastard is the Commander of the Night Watch. How the Commander of Night Watch commands a host to attack Winterfell?"

The men stirred, and exchanged a look between, a look that no one in the council missed. "He left the Night Watch, Your Grace."

"He's a deserter?" Mace Tyrell asked in disbelief, "Northmen let deserters command their armies now?"

"Some say…his watch has ended."

"What does that mean?" Devan asked, but Jaime stayed silent.

"There are rumors about him…rumors that he had been—killed…by his own men then he came back."

An utter silence fell in the council room. "It cannot be," Mace Tyrell murmured.

"Beric Dondarrion was rumored to come back six times," Qyburn reminded them. Jaime looked at the former maester, remembering Thoros of Myr words_. He was betrayed, and died, and now he returned._

"Have you ever heard a rite called kiss of life?" Jaime asked to the master of whispers.

Qyburn looked doubtful. "Ironborn's devotees have the practice, and also red priests and priestesses. But I have never heard it returning a dead man back to life."

_I did…. _Thoros of Myr brought back Beric, and Beric brought back Catelyn Stark. "Doesn't Stannis have a red priestess as his advisor?"

"Red Woman," the tall Crakehall men-at-arms answered.

"Lord Petyr," Jaime asked, pushing the thoughts away from his head, "Has he sent riders to North, as well?" There was a grudge in his voice now. _I should have had those knights. Littlefinger… I am going to kill the sneaky bastard myself._

"Not much, only knights." The man paused again. "They rode with Sansa Stark. She's come from Vale, their allegiances are sworn to her House. Without her aid, Winterfell would have not fallen."

Jaime pressed down a bitter laugh. _Brienne is going to love this._ But at least he had kept his oath. The Stark girl was back at Winterfell safely, thought they did not have the castle any longer.

"Where is Stannis now? At Winterfell?"

The tall man shook his head. "No, Your Grace. Stannis Baratheon fell in the battle."

Another silence befell. Even Jaime held his breath. Then Devan cursed under his breath, as Randyll Tarly leaned over the table to fix a look at the men. "Are you certain about this?"

The man nodded. "Lord Stannis fell. We heard it before we left Winterfell. It travels down on the south, every village, every inn we passed on the road were boiling with words. Jon Snow commands the army now, and people call him… King in the North."

Jaime's face hardened. "Is it proclaimed?" he asked, "Has he proclaimed himself as the King?"

The soldier gave a shrug, "It's what people call him, Your Grace."

Another King… Jaime had no idea why men wanted to be King this feverishly. His cousin turned to him. "What are we going to do, Your Grace?"

Jaime stood up. "Nothing. We do nothing. They want North? Let them have it." It was a dangerous gamble, the last time North and Vale joined up allegiances, they had put an end to a royal dynasty, but that was long past now, and winter was here. He turned to Mace Tyrell. "Close the roads and borders. By the royal degree, every trade and commerce with North is forbidden under death penalty."

His council stirred, mouth opened to speak, but Jaime did not stay to listen. _They chose this, not me._ Later in the night, Jaime sought Brienne, with a headache that was splitting his head in two. Brienne sprung on her feet as he walked in her solar, walking hurriedly to him. "Jaime!" she cried out, "Is it true? I heard the news but no one is telling me for true. Is it true that Lady Sansa is at Vale?"

Jaime walked directly to the wine cabinet and poured himself a brandy, something harder than sweet wine to cool his head. "No," he answered after his first sip, turning to her, "No. She's at Winterfell. You must be at ease now, Brienne," he remarked, voice bitter and wry, "she's safe and back at home again."

"So it's true Winterfell's reclaimed by Starks again?" Brienne asked, eyes wide and blue…shining with hope.

Jaime gave her a cutting smile. "Yes, you might rejoice if you please."

Her face closed, and her eyes misted under a shadow. Jaime felt…sad. "You know how I feel on the subject, Jaime, I have never denied it."

He nodded, and retold her of the tidings, and concluded at last, "Stannis fell in the battle. They named the Stark bastard as King in the North, wildings bowing to him as well."

Brienne slumped back in her chair, a worried look over her face. "But—if he named himself as the King, then—then there will be war again." His tongue felt heavy, and full of ashes. "Will you ride to North?" she asked, a tint of fright coloring her voice.

Solemnly, he shook his head. "Tommen would rule Five Kingdoms, instead of Seven or he would rule none if we do not march to East. We have no time to waste on North anymore. Let them do as they please. I'm closing the borders. All trade and commerce will be forbidden under the death penalty."

Brienne visibly shuddered. She knew what that meant. "But—but… without the grains and supplies from South and East, they—they would not survive the winter," she protested.

Jaime gave her a hard look. "They made their choice."

Standing up, she rushed to him, taking his hand. "Jaime, no, please, I beg you. Please, consider it. We're talking about children…about babes in the winter. They would starve to death."

He pulled his hand away. "I don't make the rules, Brienne. They chose this, not me."

"You—you condemn them to a hard path. They won't sit idly and let you starve them to death."

"Winter is upon us, they cannot march down to South. Let them have this victory. When the winter is hardened and children started dying out of hunger, they will come forth on their knees, begging for forgiveness." He looked at her in the eyes. "When the time comes, I promise you, I will be merciful."

Shaking her head, she took his hand again. "Jaime, please, you're better than this, _this_ is not you, try to convince them at least not to be stupid and accept your terms."

Jaime shook his shoulders. "I do not have terms. My quarrel is at East now. I don't have men to spare to go to North for a truce, either." It took almost three thousands of Lannister forces plus a Frey host to convince Riverrun to peace. He did not have that luxury any more. Riverlands would not like this but they would not openly dare rally against them again, not when winter was here.

"Let me go," Brienne said, imploring, and for a moment he could not understand what she was asking. Because she could not ask what he thought she was asking. "Let me talk to them, please, let me go," she continued, "I will make them understand."

"Letting you go?" Jaime cried out, "Brienne, have your senses taken the leave of you? What I was telling you just a few hours past? What do you think would happen if you go to North?" he asked, walking closer to her, and took her at her shoulders. He was…sick of this, sick of everything. "You're _my_ wife. I'll tell you what would happen if you go to North. At best you would be a hostage, another kind of Sansa Stark."

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off, "I _will_ write to him and ask him to bend the knee. If he responds and comes to his senses, we'll forget this, if not…" He paused, "I'm trying, Brienne, you know I am, but I cannot make everything."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty Two

Brienne

They heard it after Tyrell army had marched to Dragonstone, in a late midday when pale winter sunlight seeped through the narrow windows, washing his solar with a soft light. Jaime was seated behind his table, where the maps of Stormlands were laid over a mess of papers and parchments, little figures with bannerheads placed accordingly to the last situation of the war. On the map, she could see Tarth, the small brown in the blue, a figure with three-headed dragon placed on it. The sight made her heart ache.

"How it did happen?" Jaime questioned, his face a mask of impassiveness, but his eyes were intently on Qyburn.

"Her Grace fell from her horse," Qyburn explained, "Her leg is broken, she cannot stand nor could she ride a horse."

Jaime scowled. "She could ride with the wheelhouse," he remarked curtly. "She never rides with horse on the road."

Qyburn shook his head again. "She's in a great deal of pain. She cannot endure the journey back to Casterly Rock."

"How long?" Jaime snapped, "When will it heal?"

Qyburn gave a shake of one shoulder in uncertainty. "A moon, at best, Your Grace. It might take longer. The bone is fractioned in two separate places. I wrapped it in plaster, but a deal of time would need before she could stand on her feet again."

"How very convenient," Jaime remarked dryly, his voice as dry as winter leaves.

Qyburn bowed his head, turning to leave. Jaime looked behind his back, drilling a hole at his neck, but kept his silence. He was to leave in two days and he had been trying to send Cersei to Casterly Rock for days. The Queen had never opposed it, had dutifully packed and made the necessary preparation. Jaime was expecting something from her, but it never came, not until to-day.

When the door closed behind Qyburn, Jaime swept off the figures over the map with his good hand, his face furious. "I should have known…" he murmured bitterly, and shouted for Peck. The squire's head appeared behind the cracked door. "Your Grace—"

"Bring me my cousin, Ser Devan."

Brienne shot a glance at him, but did not dare to speak before she could hear what he was planning. Somehow she had learned to be cautious when Jaime was troubled with something. Cersei being in the city did not trouble her, not as much as it troubled Jaime. She had survived a great deal worse than Cersei Lannister. Ser Devan came, with an expression at his face telling he had heard the news. "I want a garrison of five hundred to remain here, quarter of it knights."

"Knights?" the younger man asked without formality, "It makes near one hundred, is it wise to spare that much of them in King's Landing? Tyrells—don't like it."

Jaime shook his head. "Tyrells do not concern me." Brienne knew they would outnumber the Tyrell's forces two to one with that count, something that would make Tyrell's back tensed. Randyll Tarly was marching with Jaime to Storm's End, and Mace Tyrell was marching to Dragonstone to join up with his son. With almost all the men in the council leaving, Brienne wondered who would govern the realm after they took their leaves. "Double up my household guards with men you trust the most and put another three at my lady's door, too."

With that, Brienne exclaimed. "Six guardsmen!" she cried, "Jaime…I do not need that much men standing over me."

He ignored her. "Has the word sent to Riverrun? I want Ser Addam back to the city." Ser Addam was at the command of small group with Ser Hyle that had left for Vale before they had learned Vale's new allegiances. Once the mystery of Lord Petyr's silence was unveiled, Jaime wanted them back. "Ser Addam is to take the command of the forces we leave at the city again, and will sit in the small council as the master of war when he's arrived."

"Have you decided who would sit in the small council in your stead after we marched?"

Jaime shot a quick look at Brienne then turned to his lord cousin. "I do. It was us men who brought the realm to war, let us see what women would do whilst we do the fighting. Until up to our return, Olenna Tryell will take his son's place as the Hand, and Queen Margaery will take Randyll Tarly's, and Lady Brienne will take mine."

All words forsook her. Stupefied beyond sense, she looked at him, her eyes widened in shock. His eyes found hers. "You will sit on the Iron Throne, Brienne," He gave her a sad smile, "Do not hate me for it."

After Ser Devan left, a look of disbelief still covered her features, Brienne turned to Jaime. "Jaime, you cannot be serious in this."

He gave her a searching look, studying her. "Why, it is now you or Cersei that I have to decide. You don't expect me to leave it to a Tyrell, I hope."

She shook her head. "I have never ruled anything. I do not know how."

Jaime heaved out a sigh. "The high lords would tell you that they teach their offsprings how to rule since they are toddlers, but truth be told, no one knows how to rule before one starts ruling. You are a good judge of character, even though you're a bit too judgmental, but you are just. Believe me," he told her in earnest, "Far worse than you sat on that throne before."

What he had said moved her, the belief he had in her, but still… "But—but I'm inexperienced."

"Robb Stark was a boy of fifteen, inexperienced, yet he still bested me at Whispering Woods."

"But—but I don't want it-" she cried over, "I don't want to rule."

He let out a bitter laugh. "Do you think _I_ do?" he asked, and she knew the answer. He never wanted to rule, never wanted this responsibility. But he had to.

She looked at him, suddenly feeling heartsick and weary. "But I have to."

He nodded. "If I could spare Devan, I would have left him, but I cannot. I have been thinking about it for a while, who I would spare to stay behind, and when I realize I cannot take you with me, I knew my solution lay with you."

She walked to him, and rested her head on his chest. "I will... for you…and for the realm."

Wrapping his arm over her, he nodded. "You have a good report with Tyrells. Keep it up, but do not let them fool you. Be careful with Lady Olenna, she's as cunning as my father. And—and try to restore the peace with North, if you can."

Brienne nodded. There was naught she wanted more. They had sent birds both to Eyrie and Winterfell but so far no answer had come. If she was to rule, then mayhaps… she would find a way to bring them to the King's peace once again. "And be careful with Cersei. She will hate you even more now. She made herself stay for a purpose, and I guarantee you whatever it may be, it is no good to us."

Against his chest, she nodded again. "I will miss you," she murmured, turning her head slightly aside, and breathing his scent in. She liked how he smelled, she felt at peace whenever she breathed it, like she was…at home. She felt tears in her eyes. "I will miss you _so_ much."

His arm tightened, and he felt the cold touch of his gold hand over her hair. "So will I," he whispered, "So will I."

_I wonder if I ever existed really before I felt you inside me_. She did not want him to go. She did not want to be alone. Her tears wet his shirt. His golden hand touched her chin and lifted her head up, his eyes looking at hers. "I will come back," he swore.

She nodded, "You always."

Two days later, Brienne watched them leave behind the battlements, a parade with much fanfare and cheers, crowds cheering and throwing white flowers, as Jaime rode at the head of the long column in his golden armor and crimson cloak, his helmet of a roaring lion, drummers setting an easy pace with each blow. She felt tears burning in her eyes again, but she kept them trapped. She was Lady Regent and Protector now, and she could not let them see her cry.

They watched as the column spiraled down the Kingsroad as they passed under River Gate and turned towards south, drums now a faint song in her ears. At the highest tower of the Red Keep, she stood still for whole night, half of a dozen guardsmen waiting on her a few feet away as she watched the distant line of the column moving away from the city—from her. Tears finally fell in her solace, the cold winter wind gusting at her face. And she felt alone she had never felt since the day Jaime had come back for her in the bear pit.

_Please, gods,_ she whispered in the wind, _please let him come back to me._


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty Three

Jaime:

The looming sea fortress Storm's End lay ahead of them, a furious black stronghold as stormy as its namesake. Even from atop of the low hill where they made their final camp, Jaime could hear the sounds waves make when they hit the shores in furry.

Far from where they stood, he could see the distant brownness in the sea, just over the horizon. _Tarth._ _If only we still had the dromonds that Aurane Waters had built,_ Jaime reflected bitterly. With the fleet, he could have secured Tarth before he attacked Storm's End. But without it, his arms were bound. Naught, he had naught. Cersei had forsaken the Iron Bank in the hopes of dromonds, but at the end in their hands none of both remained. No Iron Bank, no dromonds, not even North.

He briefly thought if Brienne would manage to bring them back to King's Peace, but Jaime was not holding his hopes high. Too much water had passed under that bridge, too much water too much bloody. _They chose this_, he reflected again; the blame was on their heads, not his.

Cousin Devan approached at him from the left rank, where six siege towers was stationed ready for the battle. These six were the last ones they were building, and he had been expecting them finish before they could attack. He nodded at his cousin in acknowledgement. "We had a courier from King's Landing," Devan informed him, "Ser Addam arrived to the city and take his place in the small council."

Jaime nodded. _Finally_. "Is there any other news?" _Did Brienne send me a word? _He meant to ask, but restrained himself. Her last message had arrived only a week past, but he had already missed from hearing her.

Devan looked thoughtful for a moment before he answered. "Qyburn says everything is in order," he remarked, "I guess no one tried to kill no one yet."

Well, that was something. He wondered for a second or so if he would trust Qyburn, he was a cunning, sly man, but he could trust the old man having enough common sense to recognize Cersei's fall from the power. "Is everyone at their post?" he inquired then.

Devan gave a solemn nod. "Yes, we wait for your order, Your Grace."

Jaime shook his head. "Do not Your Grace me when we're alone, coz," he told the other Lannister, shaking his head, "It makes me feel like I'm one hundred years old."

His cousin smiled. "Well, you're closing on your forty, aren't you? Already an old man, you are."

"I'm just four-and- thirty, not that old."

Devan laughed, "Old." He paused, his forehead wrinkling in thoughts, "Though doubtlessly Lady Brienne has brought a wind of youth on you. How old is she?"

The thought made him wonder, too. He had never asked her how old she truly was. Perhaps he was afraid to hear the answer. The youth… one thing the old would never win… "In her early twenties, I imagine. I did not ask."

Devan gave him a knowing look. "I see…" His left hand grabbed the hilt of Oathkeeper; the lion pommel cold in his palm. Brienne's last gift, his last promise. She had given him Oathkeeper, telling him she would feel much better if he had the sword, and she did not need a sword any longer because she had him. He took the sword, and took her in his arms too, and kissed her long and hard, then promised her he would bring it back to her. His finger tightened around the pommel further, and he wished not for the first time, she could be here with him. _If wishes were horses, thieves would be riders… I have a war to finish, a peace to build. _"Give the word, sound the drums, we attack at dawn."

Turning on his heels, he walked to his pavilion, a massive structure of sailcloth with a centered pole, the flap closed with three guardsmen at watch. The whole camp stirred with movements, the last arrangements before they started for the final march. Inside, he looked at his war table, over which the maps and figures still scattered around.

There was still a few hours left before the thin hour of the dawn. He should rest and get some sleep, but he knew he could never. He had never been able to rest before a battle, his body bristling with anticipation. Most men could not, and most men would find themselves a company of whores or drink until the feel of dread, the coil in the stomach did not bother them. Jaime did not do those things, either. Usually, he would just make a tour inside the camp, watching over the last preparations, giving his compliments or directives whenever necessary, making his men see him before the battle, making them realize he was one of them, until the coil in his stomach loosened and he felt naught but the anticipation of the battle, running high in his veins.

Tonight though the notion missed him. He had always felt at home within the battlefields, with his men, but as he walked into the camp, he realized he wanted no one else's company but Brienne's. If she had been here, he could have taken her to his bed and fucked her until everyone would know it was _him_ who was fucking her. Something he had only dared to think before, but never had, not until Brienne.

He took her last message, and unrolled the paper. He had almost memorized the words now, but still he read it as if he would find something new…

_My dear husband, my dear love,_

_The days without you are sterner than I believed, and I miss you harder than I imagined. Though, everything is fine, I am afraid I do not have good tidings to give you. There is still no word from North, but I have taken the liberty of sending a letter to Lady Sansa. I hope with all my heart she will hear what I said. You must be pleased to know no one has tried to kill me yet, and Ser Addam is said to be arrived within days. Lady Olenna behaves lighter than I expected, and Queen Mother does not leave her chambers. His Grace is well and seems happy, as he has now Queen Margaery. I dreamt of you last night. We were at God's Isle, under the apple tree. You were holding me tightly as you took me. Come back, more than anything, I miss you feeling inside me._

Her words stirred him again, as he remembered her warm body. When he came back, he was going to take her back to the island and had her under the apple tree. He was quite determined on it.

"My lord," a voice said from the shadows.

The steel sang in the air as Jaime spinning on his heels unsheathed his sword. A heavy shape with a full stomach and a round head stepped out of the left corner, and stood next to the brazier. Soon the figure took a better shape, and he saw a dark-bearded man with a balding round head and with a roughspun brown robe, his feet bare and darkened with mud and dirt, calloused. The nails in the feet were dark, as well, and they liked like hooves more than feet. Around his neck, he adorned a seven starred pendant, the sigil of Faith. He must have been one of brothers who marched with the host, but he did not understand how he could enter inside his tent without being addressed first. _What's a brother doing in my tent? _

He only lowered his sword, but did not tuck it back in its scabbard. "Brother, I did not hear you addressed," he told the man of the Faith, his voice barely containing the irate he felt.

The man bowed his head respectfully. "A brother's prerogative," he said, though the words were blunt, his tone carried a tone of familiarity. Jaime squinted. He knew the man, but could not place him. "You have surprised me, my lord," then the man said, his tone turning soft silky, and he recognized it.

"Spider—" he murmured, rising his sword a little, but did not call the guardsmen. Somehow it did not startle Jaime seeing like this, he knew the former master of whispers was a man of many disguises. He was certain that the turnkey that Cersei had been hunting was him, even though he left his suspicions for himself.

"My brother—" Jaime then asked, "Is he with you?" The notion disturbed him, but if Tyrion was somehow was involved with the False Dragon, that could answer Varys's presence seeking him out.

"I am afraid not," the man answered, "He was—taken away from us."

Jaime raised an eyebrow, but did not ask to elaborate. Instead he asked what seemed to him more important. "What are you doing here, spider?"

The former master gave him a small smile, modest, almost sincere, almost. "What I've been always—protecting the realm. Do you recall, my lord, it was only me and you who tried to warn Aerys against your father?" the former master of whispers went on, "Robert should never be the King. The throne was Rhaegar's due, but then… one should always be the most careful with prophecies."

There was no coyness in his voice, but only clearness. It was odd to hear him speak in such a blunt voice. Jaime wondered that silky coyness was a disguise as well as the fake beard he sustained now. "You were plotting for Rhaegar's ascension," Jaime remarked, "Even then you were plotting for Targaryens."

"For the good of the realm," Spider admitted calmly, "Aerys had to be stopped. He'd grown so unruly but it took so long to convince Rhaegar, and when we did, it was already too late."

"Rhaegar had told me so, too," he agreed, "He said he was going to call the Great Council after he came back from Trident."

"Too late," Varys said again, "I always found it very tragic it had to be you who ended Aerys."

Jaime scowled. "You did not come to here to speak of old days, spider. Speak plainly, or I call for guards."

Varys bowed his head again. "As you command, my lord," he said, "Aegon is the true heir to the Iron Throne. The one you also swore to protect."

"So say you," Jaime shot back, "My father used to tell a different story."

"I changed the babe with a tender's son before the doors were opened for your father. What your father's dog perished was another innocent, gods blessed his soul."

_Or just let him be killed… _"Even if it were true," Jaime said, "Tommen is still my King."

"That boy is no king, my lord," Varys said plainly, "Not even as much as his brother had been." He paused for a second before he continued when Jaime's face hardened. "I meant no offense, only truth. I know why you killed Aerys, my lord. You did not let King's Landing suffer a terrible fate. I admired it. But if you do not yield now, she will suffer regardless. I have managed to convince His Grace for a truce. If you lay down your weapons and bend the knee, you will be spared. All you will be spared. His Grace is appalled to let you and Tommen take the black. Your sister will be pardoned, and have the rest of her life in King's Landing as befitting her rank. Lord Tyrion will have Casterly Rock. As for your wife, she would return to Tarth, to her father. We know that she is not with child yet."

Jaime's face grew even harder. "You seem to know a great deal of things," he told the former master of whispers solemnly.

Varys gave him a small smile. "I do, my lord. That's the best for all of us."

"For you, yes, but why should we give in? Our strengths are almost equal, if not better. Our knights outnumber yours near to three to one. Tell me again, Spider, why we should yield?"

Varys shook his head. "Your host is battle-worn, weary, and you are encircled by enemies. There is no lost love between Lannisters and the Great Houses except Tyrells. North will never come again to King's Peace as long as a Lannister sits on the throne. Dorne has already bent the knee, and others soon will follow."

Jaime's face turned to stone. Dorne had bent the knee? If that was the reason of Myrcella's attack… His finger on the hilt of Oathkeeper tightened. "And Aegon _is_ the true heir, my Lord," Varys continued slowly, his dark eyes directed to his, "He's been raised for the throne all in his life. Even your brother understood it. We must _needs_ be united under one flag and the Dragon should lead us. It's his fate. There is a storm coming." He paused, his eyes turning to the flames in the brazier… "Go to the Wall, my lord," he then told Jaime, "Your place is in the North."

Jaime felt his blood turn colder, but he shook his head. He was Jaime of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Regent of the Realm, he would not yield nor would he let some weird dreams define his choices. "I am where I need to be," Jaime remarked calmly, "Go back to the hole where you came out, Spider, before I call the guards."

Varys heaved out a weary sigh. "I—was hopeful when I heard you decided to take up your Lordship. I thought you would be rational. A fool hope, they told me, but I still hoped." He fixed at Jaime a solemn look. "Aegon is not the only dragon you must be careful of, my lord, though he's the most merciful. Before long she will be coming to. When she did, if there is no Targaryen seated on the throne, the Realm will bleed."

Jaime understood of whom Varys was talking. The mother of dragons, they called her. The last time Jaime had heard of her, she was lost in the Dothraki grass sea and her host at Mereen was sieged, leaderless. "You talk of the Realm as if you wish it to be in peace, but tell me when did a Targaryen ever bring to the Realm anything remotely akin to peace? What was their words, spider? _Fire and Blood. _That's what they are renowned for, not for peace."

"Fire and Blood…" Varys nodded then his eyes found Jaime's. "Yet, there are cold deadly things in the dark only fire could protect us against." Something coiled in Jaime's stomach. Varys bowed his head. "May we see each other again, my lord, before the Stranger finds us all."


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty Four

Brienne:

Since Jaime had left King's Landing, Brienne developed a routine. At the dawn, she came to the highest tower in Red Keep where she had watched Jaime leave and stared towards east under the breaking sun as if she looked hard enough, she would catch a glimpse of her lord husband, her protector and sanctuary. She had never thought she could have said those words for any man, but there she stood, watching and waiting, all while guarding his seat in his stead. The days were difficult without him, and the council was even harder, but still Brienne managed. _I promised him._

Below at her feet lay the crimson stronghold, slowly stirring alive as stewards, maids, squires and pages running around, preparing for the oncoming day. Behind the middle and inner walls were the many streets of the great city, twisting and rounding through three hills, cramped together; a swarming, raucous nest of bees, dangerous and cruel. The city's foul rancid odor was keen in the air even in the morning. But Jaime was right; after a while you did not notice it, nor did you hear the constant buzzing. At a great contrast, Great Sept shone brightly under the pale winter sunlight as Dragonpit ruins gazed at it bleakly under the gloom of its grey shadows. As a part of her routine, she walked on the wall-walks behind the battlements towards a half arched bridge between the towers and took a turnpike stair towards the rookery. Her six guardsmen followed her a few feet behind. She had made a promise to Jaime before he departed she would never leave her chambers without her guardsmen, and she intended to keep it even though the notion irked her. _I gave Oathkeeper to him. I told him I need it no longer, for now I have him._ He still had his own Valyrian steel blade, the Widow's Wail, but she wanted to have him Oathkeeper. Oathkeeper suited him better. _It should be his, he kept his oath._ Still, she missed her sword. There was still a dagger hidden behind her sleeve, but it was not the same.

She started climbing the stairs. The breeding place of the birds was jutted out ahead the tallest tower she stood, and each morning she went to the nest to make sure if there was a bird coming from the camp. Jaime would send couriers with important news from the battlefields, but she was starved of new words. A fortnight past the last courier had arrived with news of the battle, claiming that they were close to victory. Since then she was in the dark, wondering every night, and hoping the dawn came quickly so she could watch over East. And ever the hopeful one she was still waiting for a reply from Sansa Stark.

They had never met, but Brienne had written a letter the younger girl. She explained who she was, how she had met with her lady mother, and how she met with Jaime and became his lady. She had left off the parts of her mother's turning back from dead, and begged her to listen to her counsel, and try to convince her half-brother to retreat from his claim. She mentioned of Jaime's intentions truly, and swore that she could get him to parley if they acceded his terms. Jaime had not claimed any terms, so Brienne managed them herself, only one. .

_I made an oath to your lady mother to protect you, my lady,_ she had written, _please let me do it. I do not want you or anyone else in North to suffer any more. I am not a foe but a friend. Give up the claim for kingship, swear the fealty, and we will recognize your brother as Prince, and give the North the autonomy. I swear it on my honor, I swear it on my House, I swear it before men and gods old and new, I, Brienne of Tarth, of the House Lannister, Lady of Casterly Rock, and Lady Regent of Lord Protector of the Realm, will see it done in the name of the King._

It was a bolder move than when she had given the permission smallfolk to hunt freely in the woods over the realm. The council rallied against her intentions in furry, calling it folly, but she did not listen. She was Lady Regent, and Jaime had ordered her to try to bring the North to the King's Peace if she could. She could not see any other way. It had worked with Dorne before, so she thought why it wouldn't have work with North as well? What three dragons could not have done, good relations and empathy did. Jaime had been right one point, no one could survive this world alone. Would they listen to reason, Brienne did not know, but she had to try, she at least had to do that. So far no reply had come, but she came every morrow to check it.

One of the new maesters from Citadel was already at the rookery, Measter Arnott, a balding man in roughspun robes, with watery pale blue eyes and a thick nose, crow's feet deepening the lines across his eyes. The lines were etched on his skin as the old man was fond of squinting. He bowed his head deeply upon seeing her approaching. "Your Grace," he greeted her, "Blessed days."

Directed at her, the honorary title still felt _so_ queer. She wished she could make them stop calling her like that, but she knew she could not. "Blessed days, maester," Brienne greeted him back respectfully, "Is there any news yet?"

The old man shook his head. "No, Your Grace."

Wordlessly, Brienne nodded. Ser Addam caught her in the walkways before she returned to her chambers in the Maegor's Holdfast. The man nodded at her solemnly and they started walking together, the guards in red cloaks and lion-crested halfhelms at their trail. She had ordered Jaime's childhood friend to scan over Qyburn. The master of whispers worried her. He came to the council meetings whenever he was summoned, but there was something in his eyes now when he looked at them, a kind of derision. Brienne knew it was not because they were _only_ women. There was also those worrying rumors about Ser Robert and him, of whom the silent mountain of a man could be. Qyburn mostly passed his days in Queen's chambers as Ser Robert guarded it. He claimed it was because Her Grace needed his assistance with her broken leg, but Brienne doubted it. How long a broken leg would need the constant assistance of a maester? Queen Mother still gave her chills, even whilst keeping her distance. Brienne was worried if she was up to something. _I have listened to too much Jaime's fears._

She was perhaps exaggerating, but if she had learned one thing with her ordeals, it was that it never hurt to be cautious. So she had Ser Addam put the former maester on a close watch. She wondered what Jaime would have said if he saw her now._ I'm ordering men to spy other men. _She kept it to herself, but Brienne was certain Lady Olenna was wary as much as her. The older woman had directed a cutting barb at Qyburn a couple of times when the onetime maester came to the sessions, but had made no further comment. Queen of Thrones mostly dealt with the city's emptying stocks and how to prepare it for the upcoming winter. So many people fleeing from war, the city was crowded even more than usual with each passing day. She was also still worried greatly over the High Septon who she always called High Sparrow, but Brienne made a point not to tangle herself with the Holy Man. Her main objective was to keep the fragile peace in the city until Jaime returned, victorious. _Easier to said than done_, she reflected, turning her eyes at Ser Addam.

"My watchers say that Qyburn's birds are searching all around the city," Ser Addam said when the guards fell behind out of earshot. Qyburn's birds… Brienne had heard from Jaime that the former maester had taken the web of spies in the city. Brienne had not met the former master of whispers in person while she had been in King's Landing the first time, but she had heard the man's reputation. Somehow she was not surprised that Qyburn managed now his network. "They're turning the city upside down," Ser Addam continued.

Her brows furrowed. She had no time for puzzles. It was a gut feeling, she dreaded, she knew nothing for certain, but something in her guts was warning her that she _must_ know it. _Jaime is right; She will not go without fighting._

"For what, Ser?" she asked.

Ser Addam shook his head, helpless. "I don't know, Your Grace. They're looking every corner, every street, every shadow. They even search through the forgotten cellars from the times of King Aerys."

Her steps faltered. _Thousands of jars of wildfire were gathered and placed in under King's Landing, _Jaime's words in the baths at Harrenhal echoed in her mind, when he had confessed her how he had to slay the king. _They placed them under the streets, under the houses, under the shops. Under the Dragonpit, under the Great Sept of Baelor, even under the Red Keep itself._

A shudder passed through her. The queen could not mean it… she could not… Then she remembered what had happened to the Tower of the Hand. She had not in the city when it had happened but she had seen the burnt tower when they came back the first time from the wildness. _I will burn the heart out of you…_

Casterly Rock might be where Jaime was born, but his heart belonged to King's Landing, where he had killed a part of himself in order to save her, his innocent, betraying himself, his oath. Brienne started trembling. She wished Jaime had been here. _He would know what to do. What I am to do? _

She raised her eyes into the sky towards East. _He left me in charge. I could not fail him. I will not._ She had to speak with her, Brienne decided. Cersei Lannister had to see they were not as blind as she thought they were. She turned on her heels and marched decisively towards the mother queen's chambers, leaving Ser Addam, but keeping her six guardsmen behind.

She stood in front of the heavy oak doors, Ser Robert guarding it in his white cloak as usual. She told the silent man she wished to see Queen Mother at once. She was Lady Regent now. Even Cersei Lannister would not deny her at doorsteps.

When Brienne entered in the room she found the blonde woman lounging over a red couch over the balcony. With shutters closed tightly against the leaded glass pane windows, the interiors of the chambers were still dim, no candles lit.

Even though she was surprised to find Brienne coming to her, she was not showing it. Her leg was casted in a cream plaster, lying over the seat as she was clad in a silken crimson morning dress with furs, her hair cropped short under her ears. Even like this, she looked…regal, beautiful, and queenly. Brienne pressed down her old insecurities, suddenly again aware of her own ungainly manners. She then gave herself an inward shake, and straightened her shoulders. It was not the time for that. She took off her fur cloak and handed it to a lady in waiting.

Cersei Lannister gave a slight shake of head at her people, "Leave us alone with Lady Protector," she ordered curtly, the title coming out in feigned courtesy.

Brienne pretended she hadn't noticed. "My lady," Brienne started gently instead. She did not come to here to fight, no it was quite the opposite. "My thanks for accepting me."

The woman gave her a bitter cutting smile. "You said it as if I do have any other chance," she spat, her lips curled with contempt, "What do you want?"

Brienne shook her head as she sat on a seat across the coach. _This is going to be hard_. "We have never talked before," Brienne told her truly, "I wanted to talk."

"Talk?" the Mother Queen laughed as if the word had amused her, "What would you want to talk with _me_?" It also meant what I would want to talk with _you_, Brienne knew.

Brienne held her eyes. "You blame me and Jaime for what happened to you," she stated.

Cersei Lannister did not run her eyes away. "Among other things, yes," she calmly agreed. She paused a second, then her eyes went towards the closed windows as if she could see behind it, the whole realm. "It—it's hard to be a woman in this world, isn't it?" She turned to Brienne, "How you lord father let you carry a sword?" she asked, almost intrigued, "Mine would have never let me."

"My lord father did not, either, but I did not listen. I fought, and I kept losing. When he realized I would keep losing so long as he would not let me be trained, he ordered our master-at-arms to teach me the swordplay."

The other woman smiled, and for a moment, Brienne thought, she believed there was still hope for them. "Stubborn you are, I'll give it to you. We should have born as men." She paused then her eyes turned cold, and Brienne's hope die in her heart. "I hate you, you know," she said almost conversationally, "Nothing you ever say would change it. You stole Jaime from me."

"I did not steal anything. _You_ let him go." _I didn't betray him._

"He changed, he's changed since the day he met you. Once I thought he wed you _just_ to punish me, but I know better now."

Brienne shook her head. "No, he's still the same man, you only did not see it before, did not see what lay beneath him."

Cersei Lannister's lips tightened into a thin line. "And what lies beneath?" she spat.

"Do you know why he killed his King?" Brienne asked back, "Did you even wonder?" _Care to ask?_ The silence was her answer. "You know what lay beneath King's Landing, and you know who put them there." Brienne felt an eerie calmness. Despite their history, his sister did not know Jaime the way she did. "It was a plot of King Aerys. If the city ever fell to his enemies, he intended to leave them nothing but ashes and dusts. Jaime learned it by standing his throne, being his captive in the gilded armor. King Aerys was about to put the whole city in flames when you lord father's host started the sack of King's Landing. Jaime had killed him to stop it. He had betrayed his oath, forsaken his honor, and slayed his king to save the city." She stood up, "This is the man he always had been."

At her words, the Queen only smiled ruefully, sighing out. "My sweet brother has always been the stupidest Lannister."

"He's the bravest man I ever knew," Brienne said back.

"Like a knight in the songs. Our Sword of Morning. Oh, how he was dreaming of being like him…" She laughed again, "I'm sure he took a great deal of joy rescuing you from nasty beasts like in the songs—" She gave Brienne an overall look, studying her carefully, "Though you're not like ladies in the songs, are you?"

The words were cutting, mocking, only to hurt her, but Brienne only smiled back. "No," she said, turning to the door, "There are no ladies like me in the songs." _There is only me. There is only us._

"It won't last forever," the Queen called behind her back. Her hand on the halted, "He likes putting things on the altar, that's the way of him, but sooner or later, you will disappoint him. I wonder what he will say about North when he comes back…" A pause and Brienne almost could hear the sinister smile on her lips, "_if_ he comes back…"

Brienne left the chambers in silence. Outside the room, she stopped, her hands trembling. _She's just trying to upset me. We're bonded with more than she could imagine or comprehend. _Jaime would understand why she had to do it, _and_ he was coming back. He always came back for her. The blasted woman's purpose was to frighten her. It was a battle, and Brienne would not let her win.

She turned at Ser Meryn. "No one goes to Queen's chambers without my leave," she ordered in a plain voice. Behind his closed helm, Ser Robert's dark eyes were emotionless as always, but there was no inclination of protest, as well. "She is not to leave her chambers, too, and Qyburn is forbidden to attend her. Maester Arnott would attend her broken leg." She turned to one of her guards to make certain that her orders were going to be obeyed, "Put three guardsmen at Queen's door."

"As you command, Your Grace," the man bowed deeply, ushering out to find the three, as she turned on her heels and walked away.

She walked back to the council chambers with a new found faith in herself. She was not going to disappoint Jaime. He had entrusted his city to her, and she was going to keep it safe in his name. She saw Ser Addam in the middle of the way, rushing toward to the council chambers.

The man halted in his urgency, then cried out for her, "My lady!"

A sudden fear gripped at her. "Ser Addam!" she called out back, "What happened?"

"The host—the host at Storm's End was destroyed," the man bellowed. The world started spinning, "They—they're retreating."

_How?_ All thoughts of Cersei Lannister in her mind vaporized to nothing. They were winning; the courier had assured them. _If he comes back…_ Then dread overcame her, recalling her words, recalling how King Robert had died. "Jaime…" she whispered, her tongue heavy, her voice barely a whisper, fright turning her heart cold. He could not… "Is he... is he okay?"

_Please gods, no…_ she prayed. She had prayed every day, every hour, every minute since he left… "He was leading the attack. They say—no one knows truly. They didn't understand, the dragon… it came out of nowhere…"

Brienne faintly could understand. "What dragon?" she asked weakly.

"She came alone—flying on her beast's back… Fire and blood…"

Brienne fell on her knees.

* * *

_A/N: So here we are, as I said the last six chapters was uploaded at once, so please, don't get confused. I haven't been writing anything for this story for a looong time, and updating it regularly has become a tad boring for me, and I thought perhaps wanting to put up the rest of the story would be a motivation for me to sit back in front of it and write the rest. I have almost all things planned in my head, almost written, I just need to-you know-sit down and write, which is just harder when you finish it in your head._

_So, it's a good place to take a breath, I guess, because finally all players, I think, are on the board, Danny arriving to Westeros. When I wrote this part, I didn't know that that was also what Tyrion had thought at some point, coming her to Aegon's rescue, and when I read those parts later-I was like-oh, great minds think alike, heh. Can you believe me if I say I hadn't read the last book fully when I started writing this, because right now, it sounds to me all-you know, insane. The things one can find online if one search enough, hah. Gotta love Wikia :)_

_Anyways, this chapter also is a favorite of mine, because we have a final showdown between Cersei and Brienne, which was long due, I believe. _

_Please, if you want to see the rest of this story, or want me to write it at least faster, do motivate me! You know the drill :) Please, review, tell me what you think. Thanks!_

_Hope to see you again, soon!_


	25. Chapter 25

_A/N: Hey, so good to see you guys again, hope you're still sticking around! So thank you for all who favorited, alerted, and even better reviewed! Without you, I possibly wouldn't have put this chapter up. So please, keep it coming :)_

_Enjoy._

Jaime:

His dreams were filled with fire and blood, and burning flesh. The dragon, the monstrous beast's breath was dark molten lava with its thunderous roaring, but in his ears it was the Mad King's delirious screams that rang, _burn them all…burn them all… _Brandon Stark's image came before his eyes as he strangled himself to death while his lord father burned slowly in his armor. Around him in the camp his men were burning in their armor, too, cooking in their flesh and Jaime could not do anything but watch it. How one could kill a dragon? He asked himself. _Dragon has three heads,_ a voice whispered, but he only wanted to kill one, this one… Standing in the middle of the carnage, he screamed, picking up a long spear of the white wood, crimson veins twirling inside it, and putting his spurs in Honor, he charged at the flying beast… _How one kills a dragon?_

His eyes cracked wide open, Jaime woke up with a jolt, his good hand tightened into a fist as if his fingers were still clutching the spear. He relaxed them as he forced himself at ease. They'd camped at the northern side of Kingswood for the night, close to King's Landing, close to home, but close to safety, Jaime did not know anymore.

They'd been on the road for the past week. He was circled with his personal honor guards, his sworn bannerrmen, and with a small but courageous force of fifty two riders. They'd camped for the night along a creek. Only one fire was lit in the middle where they slept under the open sky. The night watches were standing ahead a scant few feet away from them, their eyes squinted at the starless black sky, watching—listening for the monstrous screeching growl.

Fully awake, Jaime stood up. Sleep was unlikely to come again to him. He walked to the fire and revealed one of Lord Preston's sons, Ser Brian. He settled across the warmness of the campfire, huddling beneath his fur cloak against the chill of the night.

How one could kill a dragon, he asked himself again. _How can I kill it?_ Dornish men killed the legendary Meraxes from her eye with an iron bolt from a scorpion, and Ser Serwyn with its polished armor and shield, and with a trick. During the Targaryen civil war, many were slain, but it was not done by the hands of men. As tales sung, only a few of the slayers had outlived to tell the tale. _How one kills a dragon and still lives?_ He amended his question. He was not ready to die, not yet, nor was he ready to let his men die in vain.

Perhaps that was the reason Varys had come to him, trying to warn him. _When she did, if there is no Targaryen seated on that throne, the Realm will bleed._ The spider must have known that she was coming. The Lannister army had been drawing Golden Company back to the narrow sea, and they were so close to the victory…then suddenly, out of nowhere one night in the camp, in a dark starless sky like this night, they first heard the thunderous roaring, then the sky was lit, and fire rained upon them.

It was not easy to comprehend what happened at first. At the start, Jaime had thought it was some treachery, a notorious dark magic, then he heard the screams, and that thunderous roar started ringing louder as the flying monster flew past above their heads, its cavernous mouth open, breathing out flame. The line of wagons exploded with fire, and around him, in the frenzy he saw his men burning. The smell of the burned flesh filled into his nostrils, bones turning to ash, and screams… screams of pain and agony. It was the deepest of seven hells, his darkest nightmare coming alive before his very eyes.

Since that night, his dreams were full with fire and blood. He'd lost men, wagons, and Stormlands, and he had lost another cousin as well. Devan Lannister had fallen while trying to secure the supplies as they tried to retreat, burning to ash. Jaime had not shed any tear, had found his eyes gone dry. He had thrown up instead, heaving out his empty stomach, the smoke of burned flesh etched at his throat, filling up his nostrils… _When did a Targaryen ever bring to the Realm anything remotely akin to peace? _If he ever saw a Targaryen and lived, he was going to ask that.

They entered into King's Landing, their mounts slowly paving through snowy stone road, the Red Keep glowing crimson in the greyness. There was no cheers in the streets, not even curious looks from hidden corners; dark words traveled faster than them. The thuds of their mount's hooves clanked gloomily in the bleak silence, an eerie sound—haunting and chilling. Jaime pressed his lips, and rode on. In his nostrils, there was still burned flesh, on his own flesh there was smell of death.

Beside the gatehouse, in the midst of the madness that had become their world, Brienne was standing tall and firm in the breaking day. For a moment, Jaime thought of running away, taking her and running away where no fire or burned flesh could find them. The moment passed as he saw her trembling figure, tears shining in her wide blue eyes, her full lips moving silently as if in a prayer. _She thought I was dead._

He should have been dead…if not for Devan… he could have been dead. Brienne rushed toward him as he climbed down from Honor, and threw herself at him, her tears wetting his darkened—burned armor. He wondered if she could smell the burned flesh off him. He tightened his arms around her, nested his head at the crook of her shoulder, and he wept.

The next day started with the urgent session of the small council, not so small any more as they were all seated around the council table, even Cersei taking a place across the table. Brienne seated next to his right at the head of the long table, as Lady Olenna took his left as his son was still absent. Lord Randyll Tarly was seated next to her, a bleak expression across his face. He'd lost his son, his only heir to the dragonbreath. His cousin's place was occupied by Ser Addam as he'd seated in council in their absence, and since he had lost Devan in the battle, he had given the command of the remaining host to his childhood friend. Not that there was much of a remaining host left to them. He sniffed, as if to take the scent of the burned flesh. Brienne had washed him tenderly last night, with scented oils and fragrances, kissing and caressing, and crying, but he could still smell of it on himself. _I wonder if I ever will be able to forget the smell._

The young queen decided to stay with Tommen. His young boy did not understand what had happened, but he understood well enough something bad—something _terrible_ had happened. In Margaery's stead sat Cersei, her leg still in plaster, and next to her there was Qyburn, their pitiful master of whispers.

"How many men did we lose?" Lady Olenna asked stiffly, her head in her adorned headdress bobbing, in her voice there was a timber of disbelief.

"Almost three quarters of the main host," Lord Randyll answered, "And we forsook a battalion to protect the retreat as well. The rest of our forces are regrouping in the north of Kingswood." He paused to let out a sigh, battered and weary, "But how many…? Only time would tell for true. There are men severely burned."

Ser Addam shook his head. "How did we not know it? A dragon… a dragon flew up to Westeros, but no one saw it?" He looked at Qyburn in question. "What was our master of whispers doing?"

Qyburn looked impassive with the accusation. "Dragons fly high and fast—"

"It was carrying a woman on its back," Ser Addam pointed out, cutting him off, "how high could it fly from all the way to Storm's End?"

"It was enough to fly faster than a ship, my lord," Qyburn quipped, "Besides, everyone thought her missing in the grass sea desert."

"Apparently not," Lady Olenna shot back. Jaime kept his silence. "Where is the rest of her army? I thought rumors said that she had an Unsullied army blindly following her steps."

"They did not come yet," Randyll answered, "Some say she came to wed that feigned brother of hers?"

Qyburn nodded. "So tell the whispers. Dragonstone has fallen, as well. They're to wed there."

Lady Olenna and Lord Randyll straightened in their seat. "My son? My grandson?" she asked.

Qyburn shook his head. "We know not," he answered, "I have sent a searching party for them."

A faint smirk passed over Cersei's face before it disappeared. She took her cup and drank slowly, then put it on the table. "How can we kill it?" she asked, "How can we kill the beast?"

Startled, Jaime looked at her. _She is my twin. _"Kill a dragon?" Ser Addam asked.

"Dornishmen slayed one," Cersei countered, as if bored, "as they so love to bloat."

Lady Olenna pursed her weakened lips. "Perhaps we should send them an envoy and ask them to kill it for us."

Cersei smiled tightly. "Dorne has bent the knee," Jaime finally spoke, informing them.

In the eyes of Tyrells Jaime saw the same question rising… _Would we yield, as well?_ Every each of them would need to ask it to themselves at one point, but Jaime was not ready for the answer yet. "Eyes… eyes are their weakest point."

They all turned to look at him. "Only one dragon attacked us. When she was lost from Mereen, it was said that her dragon was wounded, and the others were chained. She kept them under chain because she could not control them," Jaime explained.

He had been thinking of that, all the way back, he had been thinking of that. He was not ready to answer that question, no yet, not before he had tried all of his chances. He had owed that much to his men burned alive in their armors, he had owed it to his cousin—who had given his life in order to protect him—his burned flesh filling in his nostrils. Later, he would mourn and weep for him, but first he would revenge his death. He turned to Qyburn. "We need scorpions, massive large scale scorpions and big thick iron bolts and sinewy muscles with good aim to fire them."

"And the big mirrored glasses—" Brienne spoke next to him, wheels turning in her mind, a scowl above her brows, "We put them on the battlements, use the sunlight to blind her aim. My father built a defense line like that at Tarth, to blind the fleets. It's even said one could burn a whole armada using the glasses if they're big enough."

Jaime nodded. "I want them prepared in a fortnight," he ordered, standing up. There was so much to do. He needed to plan, and there was still the possibility of an attack in the night. _If only I knew where the bloody dragon is…_

The rest of the small council followed his example, standing up, aside Cersei. Qyburn went to help her to stand up, but she pushed the weaseled man away irritated. "Your Grace," she called after him, "May I take a word with you?" she asked courteously.

Jaime glanced at Brienne who stared at the wall far ahead. He went to her side, and whispered at her. "Go to my chambers," he told her, "I'll be there shortly."

In her eyes, there was an unnamed emotion he could not place. "Brienne?" he asked.

She nodded crisply. "I'm waiting." She turned to leave.

_Was that a jealousy? _He was not sure. Brienne usually wore her emotions open in her face. It was something else. "Why did you not tell me why you killed Aerys?" Cersei asked from his behind when they were alone.

Startled, he whirled to her, and Brienne's reluctance became palpable. _Why did you tell her, Brienne?_

He gave a look at Cersei. "You never asked."

"Did _she_ ask?"

She did not, not really, but Cersei could not understand what happened between them on the road, what had happened in the baths. He was high in fever, had lost his hand, and Brienne…those wide blue eyes… "What do you want, sister?" he asked instead.

Cersei looked at him directly in the eyes. "If _she_ ever sets a foot inside this city, I'll leave her only ashes," she told him, as if in a warning, "Do _not_ try to stop me."


End file.
